Writing is Scary

It's an uncomfortable process, writing. Or at least it can be. Especially if you're branching out into a new type of writing you've never done before. I've done fiction, poetry, non-fiction. But there are some things I've thought, and thought poetic, but have never commited to any kind of media. Which is, on the one hand, a shame, as I think it has a place, an appreciable artistic quality. On the other hand, I'm somewhat shy and afraid to put such things onto a permanant media, such as paper or a word-processor document. Love isn't always an easy thing to express, but I think I manage well. However, Love is a large thing, covering many different types and expressions. I've always had a handle of the noble parts of Love. Passion, though. I've felt it to be sure, passion, desire, I am but a man. Though perhaps I have spent too many years concealing my passion, and so it is obscured from those whom I would show. I believe it's a matter of inexperience, really. It's still such a new and unusual thing for me. Only in two persons have I felt a strong passion at all, and only one has been worthy of my desire. But how to express that? How do you tell someone you care about them and their happiness, and in the same moment tell them you want them, that they move you in a way that cannot be described? I'm trying to work that out, but it's uncomfortable for me to get those thoughts from mind to media. Somewhat like new shoes. Certainly much better than the old ragged pair I had before, but still needing to be worn in. Well, we'll just have to see how it goes, I suppose.

Update: Because I don't want to make a new post for this small piece of news. 4 pages. 4! for one poem. Of course, anyone I'd feel comfortable to proofread the thing isn't online. So it'll just have to be edited later, I suppose. Oh well, 2:30. Time for bed.