All the "love" news that's fit to print.

Once upon a time, I used to write every little thing I felt...or at least what I thought I was supposed to be feeling.

I wrote it in journals, I posted it in blogs and blabbed it up and down the street to whomever would listen. In the moment, it felt wonderful. Looking back, it became problematic. Not because the writing was bad...mostly because the writing wasn't always sincere. I can admit now, that sometimes all the glitter I raved about, wasn't really all that sparkly. Sometimes, I just needed other people to feel like it was so I could relate to the feelings and emotions and bonds I thought so many other people had. More than wanting to be in love, sometimes...I wanted to be accepted as being lovable. Having someone to fawn about seemed as good a proof as any that I could be...valuable. And even that, even now, is so painful to admit.

For many, many years I believed I couldn't be lovable unless I had external proof. So, I did what so many people do...I took a little bit of love, and I made it into a love so much bigger than me that I finally collapsed under the weight of my own creativity. As I look back on all those days and entries, I almost can't bear to read them...because all I see is that part of me I had yet to mend.

That's all a part of growing up, right? Right. But what to do with all those rambling wide eyed postings of love and lust and unfettered adoration? Especially when what I believe love to be now looks and feels and IS so, different? It's a bit like trying to put on your eyeglasses from ten years ago. A minute too long and your head is pounding and you're feeling a bit uncomfortable. Flat out queasy.

I keep all those things I thought about love neatly locked in a keepsake box. And there are many days when I want to burn it. But something compels me to refrain. I'll trust that those words serve a purpose. Problem is...what to do with the thoughts and feelings and experiences of now? How much do I say? Do I believe in jinxes? Am I just as giddy and wide eyed and potentially foolish as I once was? And if I am, do I care to display that readily for the world?

I find myself at an interesting crossroads these days. There's a tiny flower, blooming at the base of me, in a soil I've been spending a lot of time trying to cultivate. People around me shift and change...I shift and change. My needs and wants and how I define them...all changed. And it feels better (and potentially more frightening) then I could ever express.

I'll be honest. I see lots of over the top expression of love and adoration plastered all over the place. People expressing undying love and passion and pink hearts and stars and sprinkles and unicorns and shit. I see loads of grandiose expressions of undying affection that later get deleted and swept away like ashes from a once blazing fire. Our online existence only exacerbates our ability to jump into...and jump out of too many things. One thing I've begun to believe, at least for me, is that sincerity and integrity and the tenderest of love is often quiet, purposeful and rarely in need of spotlights, sonnets and fat cupids with pointy arrows. It is like that little plant, growing at the base of each of us. Precious. Sweet. And fruitful when nurtured by the integrity of action rather than the charm of word or appearance.

This feels different. And while I want to race around the room, giggling and carrying on (and here and there, I do)...I don't want to go on and on about it, at least not in front of an audience. I've lost my love of sweet, sugary confection if indeed I ever truly had one. I don't feel a need to have this budding...bud...authorized, reviewed or stamped for approval. I, unlike the me I used to be, don't need this one to show me why I am lovable. I've found my own reasons and they feel just fine. I'm hoping not to look back on these days and cringe at my ramblings, or roll my eyes into my head. I want to look back on this experience, read these words and no matter how it ends, if it ever ends...and say...

...that's all the news that was fit to print.

So, yes. I'll share. A piece here. A whisper there. The rest will tell its own story, in its own time.