Truth, Love, and Life

I am a writer at heart. I've had a personal essay published, and a few poems. But that doesn't make me a writer. Not really.

I am a writer because writing makes sense of my world.

In life there is truth and there is untruth. I would say lies, but not all lies are untruths. If that makes sense ;)

In truth, I can believe that life has some meaning. But it's so easy to fall for untruths. To question and doubt things you once thought were true. Like love for instance. Love is a grey area.

How is it possible to have loved someone and then fall out of love, and then question whether you ever really loved the person to begin with? Love should not change. Yet it does. Too often.

I write primarily poetry, and too often I write about a boy I loved. I don't want this boy in my life anymore, yet I write of him as though he were the only love I'll ever know as truth. Why is this?

It is true that this boy has made my expectations higher for life, for love, for me. Perhaps you could say that he has ruined me. Or drawn out who I was meant to be. And I am grateful for that. Is it possible to mistake gratitude and affection for love?

I try to be as truthful as possible in my writing because, really, where else and to who else can you truly be yourself completely and honestly and without boundaries and limitations? The only place I never lie is in my writing. Everything I write I have believed fully when I wrote it. But truth is never absolute. And like love, it changes.

Life is funny that way. The only thing constant in life is the fact that change will occur. Sometimes swiftly, so swift that you never see it coming. Sometimes slowly, gradual as the change of the season.

I am a work in progress, that's for sure. And the great thing about life is that there's always the potential for more. To be better than you were yesterday. And that is meaningful.