Anxious Mind

Describe an anxious mind. Don't describe it, though, with words about its workings or definitions of what comprises it - neuroses, compulsions, etcetera.

Describe an anxious mind by describing the image that an anxious mind provokes, to you.

What do you think of? Do you paint an image of someone alone in the dark or lost at sea? Do you think of someone pacing impatiently for some intangible pain in their head? Are you able to summon any image at all?

..I imagine a dark day, the sun occluded by the darkest storm cloud, and this storm cloud is the mind of the Anxious. The Anxious has so much energy stored by friction of its thoughts tumbling and churning - this stirring causes static. Static electricity is a potentially immense energy that does not find escape. Electricity cannot move without a path and a destination and so it rolls and languishes within the confines of the Anxious and there is no release for the cloud. Not without a lead cast up from the earth below - something that can be reached for.

Now, with a lead, the Anxious can take focus and exhale that which is static and pour it into the ground with a great dose of lighting - electricity with aim and a purpose.

The Anxious will find relief and peace for a while, but the thoughts will churn again. It's only a matter of time because a storm cloud trapped in perpetuity cannot hope for lasting peace...only for a chance to breathe out, from time to time, that the current within does not find a malice for its host. A storm can only get so big before it loses itself into something else entirely and ceases to be..

This, to me, is what I imagine when I think of when I think of a mind called Anxious.

I've been in love before

I've been in love before. I've had a first love, and I've had loves since. I am in love with someone now, but there is a pronounced difference that has commanded my attention. What I am in has called into question every love I have loved before. What I am in now has taken the stone and brick, from which I built my old perception of this exceedingly complex emotion, and...turned it to sand...

I am 24 years old - soon to be 25.In my quarter of a century I have sharpened my command of the English language to a point of pride. I have dived into the body of my words and sentence structures, and my knowledge of poetry and literature and trivial publications alike, and I have found that in endeavoring to articulate on this new understanding of love I have found, with eloquence, my words run dry and all that I know of this language of mine is stricken from me for its inadequacy...I do not have the words, and I fear that I never will, and so I must resign myself to telling the story of a man who is maddeningly unable to tell the depth of his love for "her."

She is wonderful, and for my inability to say it with enough depth, I will say it simply to her, with hope she is reading. I love you. So very much.