Last night in class we had to think about our obsessions, things that haunt our writing. One of the things I love to, have to, write about is people. We free-wrote for a while about this. Here's what I came up with:
Can people necessarily be considered an obsession? I think so, the way I feel when I"m describing them, turning them over and around in my mind.
I feel his cheek against mine when I describe it and it makes him come alive again, here, here he is not. Trying to describe his laugh is impossible but it won't stop me.
And then there is her who I can't not write about. Her hair, her eyes-- everything--not flawless, not perfect, but right.
And the little one, who speaks with wisdom and simplicity and incredulity. I need to write about how round his face is right now and how hugging him is like hugging warm cookies.
I have to write about these people that mean so much to me and who have haunted me with their presence. I want to hold them and laugh with them and I'm here and I can't and I must, so I write.
And they are mine.