Love is the destination for many, and it is an admirable goal. Anyone can reach it however many do not.

For some, it occupies their every living moment, and rightfully so I suppose. To attain and retain are the focus for most people, I’m glad I’ve found love. I hope I won’t have much trouble with retention. Expression, however, is a higher level of love I hope to master, or at least grasp in a respectable manner. The best art is a product of love. It takes many forms, good and bad. This particular work would be one of the bad ones. I apologize for that. Maybe after a few thousand thoughtful scribbles on love committed to paper I’ll have improved. Maybe. Most don’t get that far though. The numbers are probably comparable to being a sports star or famous actor. One bajillionth of the population. I can’t even write honestly. My writing is way too self-conscious to be close to good. I’m so preoccupied with writing something that sounds good or consequential that my words collapse under the weight of their own self-importance. Even now, writing that reflection, I’m saturated in the vanity of self-deprecation. I don’t know how to write for the sake of writing, and that’s one of the main hurdles that face me in truthful and worthwhile expression. Like an experiment in observation, the subject can’t be studied without invading its space and affecting its behavior. Physicists call it the “Uncertainty Principle”. The closer something is studied on the subatomic level, the more it jiggles and wobbles and refuses to stay in its natural state. Actually, there is no way of knowing what exactly its natural state is, because observation is not possible. It could be that the particles are always in a state of constant motion, what physicists call the “quantum foam”. Maybe emotional expression, truth, is like quantum foam. The more you try and analyze and dictate love’s characteristics, the more its slips from your fingers and you find yourself

creating an imposed structure of emotion on something that can’t be physically quantified. The very act of expression misrepresents the thought you were trying to convey. Because of this impossibility, one reverts to descriptions of love and other emotions, already misrepresented by others before you. So, this being the case, love (not as we know it but as we express it) is a series of gross inaccuracies used to define the general feeling that each person shares in humanity. Those capable of complex emotional exposition (the one-bajillionth) are able to add insights into love which are then co-opted into the universal reflection pool for lesser humans to gaze into and pluck from in order to further misrepresent their own personal expressions of love. At this point, I, too, grasp at the words of greater men to describe the feelings I have for Leslie. Its my hope that one day I will be able to convey my feelings for her through my own words, untainted by the men before me.