I'm writing all the time. It seems no difficulty for me to use words. Actually too many of them is one of my issues I have to work on, but peculiarly when I am strongly conscious of the addressees, the words sometimes won't come out so easily. In other words, I don't usually have the problem saying what I want to say but I do when I know I am saying what I want to say to the one I want to say to. I guess it all started the time when I first felt the desperate desire to say something in front of the one with whom I wanted to share only to find I was incapable to.
The hardest and probably the best I've written was a letter, a goodbye letter. I composed the whole thing in my head for two or three months, choosing, comparing and arranging every single word into a very short paragraph. I did not want to hide but I did not want to sound crazy. I wanted to say things in an appropriate way and yet I had to draw the shape of my feeling in it. It turned out wonderful. But I'd never forget how exhausting that few words were. And now I feel the same feeling again. I don't understand it. When I address to someone I respect and adore, it is as if I were writing to goddesses, some sacred high-above-sky being who only come down to earth occasionally, even it is only supposed to be a formal letter, nothing personal involved.
I have to keep telling myself stop freaking myself out by over-thinking, and that it is merely for my own good to get the necessary information, but I can't. I keep thinking once I press send someone so fantastic at the end of the other side will read every letter I am putting down. Is this the way I love people? By avoiding them?
