I think the idea of meeting new people is terrifying, dreadful and uncomfortable. If I could live the rest of my life without meeting new people, and be okay with that, then you know, I’d be okay with that. However, I am not, my poetry is not.
In the attempt of meeting new people, I agreed to go on a date with someone I never met, and so of course my anxiety began to fill up my inner being. Yes, I also spent a few hours deciding whether I should go or not, wondering what to wear and even hoped something would come up so I didn’t have to go.
I’ve always known that I wanted to feel much more than just good, bad, sad, and happy. I’ve wanted to feel thrilled and frightened, carefree and joyous, melancholic and optimistic for my poetry.
The reason I said yes was because I wanted to feel things that would allow me to continue writing. And I know it might sound absurd, but what if I told you I am poetry? And poetry is constantly in need of words, words that can only be fed when feeling deeply to stay alive.
This date, which I’d say was the lowest of the lowest on my imaginary list of people I’ve wasted my time with had me feeling sad, but remember, If I was going to feel anything at all, I wanted it to be felt deeply and so I wished for melancholy.
I thought that as poetry, as my work, I’d feel the least bit excited about getting back once again into the dating world to write about.
Yet, all in all, being uninterested was remedied by a few drinks and a beautiful night sky. I remember not caring what he was saying, throwing a few laughs here and there along with a few forced smiles. This was the kind of date that felt like everything inside of you was spinning, everything close to you was out of focus, yet everything far was so clear. I could see and feel all and nothing.
I must say I’ve been running out of words, which is why I went to search for more. Although, he ended up as nothing but a blur, he surprisingly led me to refocus on everything but him. I ended up finding words out of the night, out of what was far from my sight, and still gracefully clear.
The night was euphoric, and because of where I was, the day, time, climate I felt deeply.
I never felt so present and absent at the same time, which is why I’m thankful that this date happened.
From meaningless to a poem, all because it was a bad date, a bad choice, a boring person, warming weather, joyful people and good drinks.
-Now you try it, write about a date or a moment that had you feeling all and nothing at the same time.
Poem inspired by date:
