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Pondering

The words are coming faster now. I am letting myself feel, even though little at a time as if there is a way to temper these things. How can you measure hope? A little at a time for today and then a little more tomorrow? If that were possible then maybe that is what I am doing. But i definitely feel more. Its amazing this thing. I am filled with wonder at the possibility that I could once again wholly and completely offer my heart to another person. Not with words as I have done so many times but in truth. How do I know that this time its true? Hope. That's how. I am not intentionally discounting every word that I hear. I am fighting the thought of my usual buffers. Its funny how I hadn't realised the patterns I held fast to until now. I am unlearning and relearning. I am asking myself questions... my surefire logic thought process :)

And of course the questioning brings me to this point. If love is the source of this openness which allows me to write, does it then follow that I cannot write anything apart from this? Could I not have written fiction (I did write a short story a few years ago that I might post here soon) or is this a pre-requisite for being open. Or perhaps is it the authenticity of any emotion that fuels the creative? I must admit by closing myself off I cannot say that I felt any emotions in their purest forms. When I was hurt and angry it felt like the cause of my anger was happening to someone other than me. I learnt to step out of myself. Self preservation I suppose.

But this is different. I am present. No longer content to be on the outside looking in.Or maybe its not a matter of contentment. Maybe this time this thing forces from me total commitment in the place of mere participation. Classic case of bacon and the pig VS the egg and the chicken. But I am here. Waiting, Hoping, Open.

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