When a writer falls in love, their work blooms into a form of art that expresses the deep emotion they feel for their lover. The word “difficult” doesn’t reach the intensity of trouble that comes with any attempt of writing. It is in every way challenging, a complexity you cannot understand enough to overcome. It becomes onerous. Because somehow, every idea, every thought, and every word that escapes my mind, written by pen onto paper becomes something influenced by you. This influence, this love, it becomes impenetrable.
My focus could be the beauty of the sun. The bright, radiant light it provides that gleams over us all. I could inform my readers about how much I appreciate the sun due to my fear of the night. How the sun is the star located at the center of the solar system, and how without the sun there would be no earth. Yet quickly, the sun would become a synonym for you. For the comfort you provide me with, for the way there would be no me without you. The sun would become you within a few sentences. I would get lost in my writing, convinced that I am writing about the sun when in all reality I am writing about you.
I am able to begin a memoir on the life of a sad young girl. It would focus on her running away, the way she survived a kidnapping, or how she overcame depression. There would be so many different life lessons and memories I have the chance to touch upon. However, I know somehow I’d find myself fast-forwarding to the moment she meets you.
I could take on an assignment in which would involve writing a review on a book, a play, or even a movie. An assignment that would involve my opinion and nothing else yet somehow, I’d discover another approach to mention how I had discussed it with you.
Incipiently, I created this belief that you had clouded my thoughts. Becoming a voluminous mental block for anything other than you. Though, I realize now that you have become nothing other than my biggest motivation. On one occasion I read, “If you make a writer fall in love, you will never die”, and never before did I make sense of this quote meant until I met you. In any lifetime and in any story, you have become my biggest inspiration. On the days I love you unconditionally, through the good and the bad. You have become my main character. My muse. My creative influence.
A writer in love can be oblivious to this unconscious need to convey their intoxicating love for another. A writer in love could be dangerous. But what danger exists without some form of beauty?