Dearest Sarah, You Ask Me Why
In the realm of my thoughts, where imagination weaves its intricate tapestry, I find solace in crafting stories and fantasies about those I'm obsessed with. The allure of this imaginative sanctuary, where reality bends to the whims of my desires, is a refuge I willingly seek. The reasons behind this inclination lie within the recesses of my own psyche.
Meeting the object of my obsession is a venture into the unknown, a terrain fraught with uncertainties and the potential for disappointment. The allure of the idealized version I've fashioned in my mind stands as a protective shield, shielding me from the vulnerabilities inherent in real-life interactions. In this crafted realm, I have absolute control, sculpting narratives that unfold in accordance with my wishes, devoid of the unpredictable nature of genuine human connections.
The fear of rejection, judgment, or unmet expectations may be daunting, prompting me to retreat into the comfort of my imaginative constructs. Within the confines of my mind, I am the master storyteller, orchestrating encounters that play out flawlessly, free from the constraints of reality.
Moreover, the act of creating these narratives provides a sense of empowerment and agency. In this self-fashioned world, I dictate the script, giving life to scenarios where I am in command of every nuance. The fear of vulnerability, inherent in genuine human connections, takes a backseat to the allure of this controlled, idealized narrative.
Yet, even in acknowledging the allure of these self-spun tales, it's crucial to recognize the potential for these fantasies to become a barrier to authentic connections. While the refuge of imagination offers comfort, the richness of genuine human interactions lies in their unpredictability, imperfections, and the shared vulnerability that defines our shared human experience. Striking a balance between the comfort of fantasy and the potential for authentic connection may be the key to navigating the complex terrain of obsession and desire.
Even so, I will never be able to give you the love you seek. I am destined to be a ghost, a lonely man on his island. I know you want to visit my shores but I implore you, for your own safety, stay away, far far away!!!!! The true beast that I am... I never want you to see him, even though I know you love me and would pay any price to hold me. ALAS my beautiful maiden!!! It can never be!!! Don't cry beauty, know that I'll always love you from afar!!!!!!
I pose a question … do you think Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Poe , whom I’m sure wrote more arbitrary works in the beginning before there names could be written as literary reference. My question is do you think they would recognize there work years after they created it, even it was something they didn’t have a carbon copy of, or isn’t infamously stamped as “the tell-tail [post]” ?
ReplyDeleteMy guess … yes!!! Because as a writer you know your words aren’t a post- it update,, or a grocery list snippet, your compilation was something felt … and each iteration is candied, gallant with intrinsic and entwined articulation; recalled with coded publication ; with an almost ultra-fluorescent permanence; tattering ink servant. Its birth by creation; a decreed inheritance; with vowing master kinship for its pen n purpose; An Ode to its existence.