Prelude to The Wars

The push and pull in me that is writing and art versus science and reason. ~ The eternal battle. The unending conflict. The hurt. ~ The all-consuming uncertainty, self-doubt and self-examination that inevitably results in closing my eyes and sighing in despair. ~ I feel my heart pounding. I feel my cold hands. I feel the silence. ~

That indomitable side of me battles against the cold, reserved exterior. ~ The rushing fire, the ache, the pent-up scream releases itself occasionally in tears and often in sighs of frustration. ~ This is not a fight that has a winner -neither side ever conquers the other. ~

And this is what they call the wars. ~

Midnight ramblings, where the allusions come and go like my bad metaphors. ~ This is merely a taste. ~

Frazzled nerves, frazzled writing. ~ A coda is needed here to express a related but slightly tangent topic - an analysis of the reasons behind writing. ~

When I think on certain subjects that irritate, worry or cause me deep a polarization of emotion, I start at the slight, niggling sense of comfort that blooms correspondingly in the back of my mind. ~ Because I know there will always be writing - that easy release, the safety in words streaming out from under my fingertips, unbidden yet unstoppable. ~ This is therapy. ~