Finding poetry

I'm learning about love and about not putting every last thing to paper. I'm learning about ceasing my dissecting habits.

Because sometimes you just can't write about what it's like. The words are not enough.

I'm able to narrate, describe, paint a mental picture by laying out all the details. But I don't know how to talk about it. Not in a manner that hints understanding. Because I don't.

I've spoken before about the dangers of dissecting that which we love. Dissection leads to understanding and understanding is scientific in nature and unnaturally against all that which is emotion based. Understanding, then, is finding the truth and love is far from truth; more like a dream.

So I don't write about it and, what is perhaps more curious, I don't feel the need to write about it. Not just in relation to me, but in relation to others. I'm more than content to observe the world otherwise, without alluding to love, without even considering it. I'm still mapping out the details. Showing people the hidden corners of life. But I'm doing it differently. I'm showing them different corners, some that are perhaps even more hidden than the others since I have only seldom written of it.

I find that often I learn to understand things by writing about them. And I think I like writing in part because I get to learn. I feel more complete. And yet by not writing about this I feel just as complete.

Poetry isn't just written, you know.