words, words, words...

I live off words. Writer or not, I live for the feelings they evoke and the moments they capture. It's something primal in me that hungers for them, making me feel my femininity in my fascination with their aural quality. If you want to stretch things a bit, you could conjure up a connection between aural and laura--not quite backward, but close enough to fool your eyes.

I fill my quiet moments dreaming of books: those already read, those to be conquered and the novels I'll pen in my autumn years. Each time I read something, I feel the author's tone take over me as I begin to narrate my waking life. Since I was about 6 and understood that universal quality behind storytelling I've secretly narrated my own life, thinking in 3rd person to myself, unwilling to miss any moment. It's a little shameful, but I enjoy it. No, I live for it.

That said, I wonder if I can ever find contentment in a world beyond the oral story or even the written word. I long for heartfelt conversation with the one I love, sharing insights and opinions on any topic imaginable. Although I suppose he means well, each "mmhmm" feels like a dismissal. Maybe it's that he doesn't know what to say, but I find it so hard to imagine a world that's so flat. Mine is color-infused such that every whisper of wind leaves its mark on my consciousness. Okay, maybe that's a bit of a stretch, but I do see things and think of them, making connections and imagining things. It's hard for me to accept that the desire to make sense of one's world in this way can be turned off indefinitely. Yes, we are different people. But sometimes I wonder if we aren't too different in this way. I don't claim that my way is the right way, or even the only way, and I wish that we could meet in the middle. Maybe that way that word-lover in me will be satiated a little bit.

I still love him, though, maybe more because I'm helpless despite this huge part of me that's like "ENOUGH!" a lot of the time. *sigh* So this is love when opposites attract...