As I was trolling the depths of despair,
I had no trouble recording my feelings.
I wrote of love lost or never gained,
I put down in black and white my failed quest for joy.

Yet now, my quest has been fulfilled.
I am happy at last.
I have found what I thought unattainable.
The lust has been sated and true love is at hand.

I can not commit to paper my elation.
I can not tell of my true feelings for this creature.
I can not relate to you the view I have from this high place.
To say that I have never felt this way before,
seems trite and cliché.

I have been on this woe-be-gone planet in excess of half a century.
I thought I knew love.
I thought I knew how to love.
I thought I knew what it meant to be loved.

I did not know anything at all.
To love is noble and soul cleansing.
To love can lead to the darkest pit of your being.
To BE loved, ah, the relief, the ego soars.

To be needed as you have needed.
To be longed for as you have longed.
To be desired as you have desired.
To finally feel whole.
And yet, I can not relate to you my emotion.
I had no problem dragging all of you into my hell.
I was able to display my tortured soul for all to mock.
I confessed to weakness and selfishness.

I still find ease in the telling of my sorrow.
The difficulty I now face, is to proclaim my delight.
I fear I can not share my joyousness.
I can not define my emotion.

Can you remember your first taste of ice cream?
Can you remember your first kiss?
Can you remember the first time someone said,
“I love YOU”
If you can remember, then, this is how I feel.

So, what is my problem?
Why can't I tell you?
Why can't I scream it to the world?
Maybe I just did.

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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