The Arts ---
As is my custom, I spend weeks turning over in my mind any given idea for a piece of writing before actually committing that idea to paper or to the digital media. Such was the case during the past five weeks. An idea began to take shape in my imagination, growing and evolving and forming a mutual bond such as a creative artist might have with her creation. I had in mind a two-paragraph exploration of love and youth. As the idea took form the attachment became more palpable. I carried it with the love and protectiveness of a mother carrying her unborn child. When I received the go-ahead from the Muses to begin committing my thoughts to writing the words flowed freely and with abandon. My connection with the piece became even more real, with emotions filling the words and phrases like honey from honeycomb. And so that sweet child of mine was almost complete, ready to be presented to the world until a fatal touch of a finger on the touchscreen deleted it forever.
I felt as though my world had disintegrated around me, as if my very essence were ripped out of me, as if I had lost my own self. There was no bringing it back. That piece. It was gone. Miscarried. There was no "undo" function. The tears held and did not flow. I could not be consoled. One can only imagine the anguish a mother feels at having to experience a mis-carriage. And the loss of a piece of writing is hardly a fitting metaphor of a mother's loss. Would I be able to write it again? Would it be the same as it was before? But the details might be lost but never the essence. I took comfort in the fact that for the creative artist essence is always present, and so I could build around it. I could create again. And so I did, after several days of mourning the loss. I recreated. And while it was not like its recently deleted sibling, it did have a character of its own, its own uniqueness, and I loved it just the same, naming it "Love and Youth".