The heart of the matter

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It's strange.  I'm really quite a visual person, but I focus so heavily on the words.  I think part of it is that the challenge of translating a gesture, or a thought, or a memory, into words makes it more real.  I reify as I write.

But that means there's always a bit of the idea that's lost in translation, the ineffable bit of it.

So right now when I feel like felt torn apart, I know exactly what I mean, but there's no way that you can without having my thoughts.  But if I write that it feels like tearing, like extracting fibers that are inextricably bonded, then maybe you get a bit of an idea.  But the colors are washed out.  There's this great mass in my head that will never find voice.

I keep trying, though.  Maybe someday someone will understand exactly (even if it's in eighty-five years and I'm long dead and the person thinks s/he's insane for thinking that they get it).  For that hope, I keep writing.

(This will be cross-posted because it's a bit more personal than a typical dA entry...for me at least.)
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