if I was a cute little essay, I would have lots of semicolons on

I love writing so much it hurts.

I realize that my love for writing has materialized somewhat in something coherent once in a while. but what a process, when I can be so open and heartfelt and mysterious and introverted and gingerly and energetic and extroverted all in sequential moments.

I realize that it hurts to pain over past pains and wonder if in the future I’ll ever attain anything close to resembling a work that matters, that saves a life, that bends time in its enormous impact. I want, truly want, that impact. I think others have had the limelight for these purposes … and subtlely, although not in that form tonight, I have thought about it pointing my way.

I realize that it takes further commitment. further rationalizations of electronic purchases. further attempts at conformity, at disregard for authority, at shopping, at shoplifting, at anything at all in this life that makes a good moment of inspiration pour out onto this little screen.

I realize that hurting over my own pain and unsettling moments of despair is not in itself a very interesting reason for someone to pick this up or print this off or wonder if there is another bit of prose waiting to be explored. I realize that, and plan without real plans a way forward — to make it so there are more than a few slowly developed and even slower-still understood emotions that make up this read.

I realize my literacy is affected by the lack of exceptional writing I’m exposing myself to on a daily basis.

I realize that, much that I love the semicolon, I didn’t use it once in this entry. Probably due to my writing style that lacks complex clauses. Oh how I wish I could write complex clauses.

I love writing so much it hurts.