She Made me Feel Different

She made me feel something different. Everyone says you can’t explain it, and you can’t, and yet it seems like we always do. Or at least we try to. I have had time to reflect on it, reflect on my feelings, and I have fallen into a pit that I feel like I can’t get out of. A pit that keeps getting deeper, and the only steps out are writing. Everything else flops, it slides, falls deeper and deeper. The feeling I want to find again wasn’t love. Or at least I don’t think it was. It wasn’t infatuation with her. It was something else. Can’t explain anything now, ever since I started writing it all comes back to her. Her. Her. Every character has her personality written all over it. And I want to write about just her, not something with her essence in it, but I can’t. It makes me sick to the stomach thinking about that again. I have tried, and when I was in the feeling, it felt magical, invincible, undefeated. And when I got out, everything kept hammering me, and hammering, and digging deeper, and pushing me further down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down.

I couldn’t get up, and I still can’t, the only steps I see are writing, but they are hard to build. Everything else crumbles. Why is it that writing and stories is the thing that the world revolves around. Religion is based on ancient writings most of the time. Knowledge and history is discovered from texts, so why is it so hard, when you have a feeling, we can’t describe it. I want to describe it, down to the most miniscule detail, but it slips as I’m about to put it down.

She made me feel different. I can’t explain it. But I need it back.