September 5, 2017 – A treasure from 3/29/1990

        Cleaning today getting ready for a neighborhood yard sale I ran up on a few files from my Creative Writing Class from Isothermal College. 

            We had to keep a daily journal and write something every day.  Oh, I laughed, I cried, and I shook my head at how bad some of it was and was stunned at how poignant some of it was. These journals were collected every few weeks, read by the instructor, and returned.

            I have decided to share a journal entry with you with changing one thing – adding a title.

Young love

        If no one else noticed in creative writing class, I did – Katie and Brad were holding hands.  Sweet.  When their eyes lock, I blush knowing the electricity running between them and their blood pulsing wildly in their veins.  I haven’t forgotten how love felt at that age. 

Back then, my heart felt as if a warm hand were squeezing it.  My throat choked on the words.  My hands tingled and a simple brushing kiss paralyzed my lips, cheek, and jaw like Novocain, [The Novocain effect of a stolen kiss.]

I could feel a touch or squeeze for minutes.  Nothing was fleeting, everything was real and vivid and alive and earth shattering.  I never needed sleep, or food, or sustenance of any kind, only the warm look of my lover to sustain me.

I remember thinking with dizziness – ‘Oh this is love. I want to drown in it, what a pleasant way to die.”  I also had doubts about it lasting, and often quoted to myself: “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

I know a friend on her second marriage that has never been in love.  She’s never felt the chemistry of breaker A mixing with beaker B giving a spontaneous explosion.  I feel sorry for her. But, I can see Brad and Katie know it. 

I’d love to see Brad write a poem about how it feels . . . if he could sort it out . . . perhaps it’s too intense for him to tune in and write about it now.

Ahh, sweet lovers in springtime, is there anything more charming.