Letters of Love: On the very personal art of writing, whether poetry or prose, as a means to convey the emotion of love.
Today, I sat down and reread all the letters of love I've written. No, I don't mean love letters. Letters of love. Word pieces, whether prose or poetry, that convey my love for one person or the other. I read every single one I still have access to, dating as far back as 2019. I've long since gotten rid of the ones I wrote before that simply because it was terrible writing. I tend to believe that whenever I enter a depressive dump, I stop feeling, that I have become incapable of the one thing that makes a person a human: the ability to feel. But rereading these letters, I now realize that I have never, not once, stopped feeling. Even in the worst of my depression, I haven't stopped feeling. My problem is actually just that. I feel too much. I allow too much to affect my heart. But god fucking hell, do I love. My therapist once refuted my claim that I am not a person who is prone to addiction. She said that I might not be prone to addiction when it comes to substance, bu...