Why do we ask? Why do we put labels, definitions on this emotion? Is it because everyone has such a varied experience of it? Or, rather, instead, maybe it is because everything that we experience label it as is inadequate to describe that emotion? We use language which is not up to the task. How can my words convey, in you, the reader, the same things within my heart I feel? How could it possibly? Even were I to be successful in the first formulation – that of what I experience – into a written description which resonates with my own heart, my own emotion ,my own soul – even if I am able to SOMEHOW find words to express the depth of what I’ve felt – the breadth of how my experience has gone – the width of how far I wish to stretch my arms in order to encompass the feeling – even if I were, against the odds, able to share this, able to transcribe, able to capture (for that must be the right descriptive – capture – as if my feelings are a wild, [illegible] animal dangerous and roaming free on the savannah) even if I were able to capture that word, that desire, that joy, that openness, that lightheadedness, that world beyond sound and experience and smell and taste and touch – even if, If…IF I were able to detail, adequately, the impact of action, I know, know KNOW that without a doubt it would not, can not, should not, must not evoke the same and likely not even similar feelings within you, for my experiences are not yours. My heart is not your heart. My spirit is not your spirit. My past is not your past. And so we cannot read the same thing and interpret, feel, emote, move in the same way. Were I to read back what I wrote, I would be reminded of my experience. If you were to read what I wrote, you would be reminded of the [illegible] experiences in your shared history. Perhaps they are similar to mine. Perhaps they evoke radically different thoughts – memories – reflection. Perhaps it means nothing at all to you, and thus you decide to ignore it altogether. Perhaps it gets you close, but not quite there – Perhaps it is one of those “almost to orgasm” moments in which you have all of the built-up pleasure but none of the final climax. Perhaps it means exactly the opposite to you as it does to me. And thus one can never completely, adequately, fully share in this experience of love, of like, of hate.
So, then. Why do you ask me of love? Shall I disappoint you and tell you what it means to me, so you can misinterpret, fabricate, obfuscate your way out of understanding for yourself? or rather, and I think this is what I shall do – shall I tell you, “I know, but it is for you to discover on your own –“? Yes, I rather like that. That shall do for now.
Good bye. Good Bye. GOODBYE!!!