Sometimes I Can't Breathe With Love

I know that lately I can't stop talking about this, and I know that normally it is a cliché, dull, and predictable topic. So it is a little scary to see myself constantly propelled to such a subject. However, I feel confident that I am approaching it in an unconventional way, and- more importantly- this is honesty that I am expressing; this is that inexpressible part of me (my core, soul, or what you will) that I am trying to write down. It's a frustrating process, but I can't help but try. 

To my point:

I am in Love. 

I am so deeply in love- all the time, and inexpressibly in love with senses, feelings and spirits. 

And I know they are not real, that they are limited to pages from books, and to my mind's definitions. But then- that is as real as anything else, for what is anything we know but our personal definitions? 

I feel this love-- it takes me over in swift moments-- and I am left with a small smile on my face, heart beating fast, light with joy, warm as though embraced

After the kiss of its presence. 

Alright... I didn't mean to break out in poem. But I decided to go with it. I like that poem, actually, I'm glad it had the opportunity to be created. Maybe I'll add more to it later.

Anyway... 

I am in Love. 

And it is an amazing love because it seems to be the first love I have ever encountered that can be nothing else but love. I am not disregarding other loves as not being "true", etc. What I am saying is that, often, when I love someone or something there are other factors playing into that love-- such as dependancy or excitement or curiosity. Whereas, the love that I am writing about now is nothing else. 

Now, I hope you are excited. I hope you are very curious to know what I love. I hope you are already very expectant on a certain thing I am going to say, and I hope I will prove your expectations wrong. 

Today I recognized my love for artists. Not anyone I've met... although I am not saying that I don't love the artists I've met-- it just is not the same kind of love. See- this particular love is... it is... not missing any pieces. It can only be defined as love and nothing else. It is inexpressible, and not lacking from its inexpressibility because there is no need for it to be expressed. However- I am so full of it right now- of love I mean- that I feel like all I want to do is talk about it, and write about it, and think about it. This particular love is unlike the love for anyone/thing I know, for- because I do not actually know who/what I love (have never met, talked to, etc.) I am able to feel an emotion that I strongly feel is love in essence. 

Is this making sense? Shall I provide examples?: 

I love Emily Dickenson: that she didn't care about publishing her poems, that she was the only person who continued to sit for her opinions in the lecture hall, that she stood/stands out without seeming to try, that she wrote for herself, that she wrote to understand something, that she failed in understanding what she was writing for/why she was writing, that she continued... 

I love Walt Whitman: that he wrote about contentedness, that his poems are heavy with meaning without necessarily being weighted with troubles, that he strongly stated his convictions, that he strongly stated that his convictions were only convictions, that he admitted to his contradictions, that he was human in every definition of the word... 

I love Vincent van Gough: that he made (fatal) mistakes, that through his art he appears to make no mistakes, that his name is Vincent, that he used colors, that he didn't understand his value... 

I love Jack Kerouac: that he succeeded in expressing something inexpressible, that he never expressed what was inexpressible, that the words he wrote on paper seemed to line my life after I read them, and that that line was inexpressible in brilliance... 

I love Conor Oberst: that he is the most modern artist I will speak of, that some people would not consider him an artist, that he is concealed by stereotypes, that I sat in my closet and cried to his songs, that I have grown out of him... 

There are others I love too, but these are the ones I am feeling at the moment. 

But the purest thing about this love is that it is not the artist him/herself that I love. It is my definition of them that I love, and because I never met them and never will- it is completely acceptable for me to love them this way.

 I love what I take from them. I love that they existed and what they made exist to me.