Sadness Sucks (AKA: The Creative Burden)

So I've been getting back to my written roots over the past few weeks. Working on screenplays, scrawling down to-do lists to maintain my sanity and other types of things. Now, there is one type of writing that I've been trying to avoid up until this point, and that's poetry, or prose. It's not that I'm bad per say at those types of written pieces, quite the contrary, I'm rather good at them. But in order to write that well, I need a little secret something. Otherwise, despite my valiant attempts, the pieces flounder like wounded paper birds.

It's not that I lack this secret something, it's just, well, go ahead and sue me for enjoying my adamant denial of it. This extra something is what makes Adele's music so universal and poignant. It's what made Vincent van Gogh's artwork so haunting and lasting. Sorrow my friends, is something that no one can truly deny. It's a feeling every conscious being can relate to. Who hasn't felt the sting of sorrow? Those times when we're ambushed by the knowledge that what we have isn't what we wanted, and our ideal is perhaps meant to be permanently beyond reach.

So, yes. I can write, and I want to. But what keeps me at bay is the dread of submerging myself in the cool waters of lonesome living. I would much rather be happy with my life and not have the need to make use of an outlet that had slept dormant for three years or so.

But then again, what else is there to do? Have I not played pretend for far too long?

This morning the sun was rising over Lake Michigan. The glowing light on the sky and water was such a beauty that it made my eyes feel not so bleary, my throbbing head fade from notice, and my heart a little less reluctant. And even though this afternoon in the city is so dreary that it would make us doubt in a solar presence, I know it's out there.

And so even though right now I thoroughly doubt the person I believe will always make me happy, I'm almost sure they're out there, obscured by clouds. So maybe there will come a day when joy, not sorrow will write the words. Perhaps some stories can end differently than before.

One Last Thing: