A Dedication

There are so many things that I cannot explain, but I can provide you with endless comments, anecdotes and insights.

I don’t know why it targeted me or why I allowed it to. In fact, I don’t even know how it all started. One day I decided to sign my life over to Literature.

Though I did it indirectly and unknowingly, I still did it. I have never looked back. Literature has never treated me badly, so I will not allow a bad word. I don’t want to over-complicate things here, I simply want to state.

This is a dedication, in it’s truest form... to Literature.

I’m partial to negativity aimed at my owner. Everyone can identify themselves with a piece of Literature, there is something out there which stands for every individual. You don’t have to want it to stand for you, it just does and with acceptance comes understanding, in that order. Literature is one of few constants in this world, and everyone likes something to rely on. Literature is that glance that speaks to you in a firm way. You don’t have to know what it is to know what it means. With one thing comes another and nothing is alike.

Literature has seen everyone through an experience. To assume your exemption would be to ignore your own being. It doesn’t have to make sense, it creates the rules and you’re simply a follower. A cherished one, I assure you.

This is a dedication.

When I cannot give anymore, and when I feel like my mind’s capacity to mind is overflowed with nothingness, I turn to you. You turn to me! We turn, and never turn away. This insistent binding of you and I on every separate occasion, is simply that... separate. The layers of relationship I form with Literature each time I trace it with my ears, eyes and mind are significant to my character.

I can sit and admire for hours. Literature is my idol. We are Literature’s children, so this is a dedication.

Don’t turn away and shrug as though you don’t recognise; Literature is the lady who gave you your mind.

To know me...

To know me, is to understand my love. To understand my love is to appreciate that fine divide between complexity and simplicity.

Some words, phrases, sentences, need not explaining further.

Mr. Optimism carries my heart in the pocket of his corduroy trousers. As he walks, runs, hops and sits my heart bounces around inside there, complacent in the frivolous bustle. I like it. Whilst Mr. Optimism teaches my heart to extend itself to the more pleasing outcomes, he also teaches it realism. Don’t slow down, don’t dwell too much. Enquire and hope, move forward.

Mrs. Cautious holds my mind’s hands as we walk together in satisfying embrace. (I say satisfying because; sometimes I wish I could rid of her and form a secret love affair with Mr. Careless). Oh what a life. They say it is mind over matter, but it is matter over mind when Mrs. Cautious leads the way. ‘Don’t do that’ she says, ‘think of the consequences’, ‘what about everyone else?’ Suddenly overwhelmed with her tedious teachings and extravagant morals, I give in and my soul comes second... sometimes.

Ms. Meaning has enraptured my soul and I don’t want her to ever free it. Lately, more than ever, I have been enticed by Ms. Meaning, stealing me away from Mrs. Cautious. I don’t mind though, I’ll happily go wherever Ms. M wants me to because I know I’m sure to have fun. She gives me this free feeling which is neatly locked with a shadow of purpose. Purpose which never hides and is shamefully brazen, but still elegant and reposeful. The intricate relationship Ms. M and I share is one which I cannot explain. She encourages expression and provides me with clues, for which I have to give my own explanations.

I can say that three work in perfect, ignorant harmony... but I would be telling a big Mr. Lie. They are in constant competition, battling to overtake. I love all. My three loves give me diversity in their glory and unknown. An imperfect alignment that works so conventionally. Contrasts within similarities.

It works for me, because I love this way.