On love and letters
On this Sunday morning, I found myself reading love letters. No, not mine — I even realized that I haven’t written or read a single love letter since 2010. I was reading the correspondence between Hannah Arendt and Martin Heidegger. These two philosophers were the best in their time and their love was as beautiful as it was disastrous. Reading the letters reminded me everything I knew, loved and hated about being in love — which brings me back to my sentiment that if you can’t always be in love, then at least once, be in love with a woman who can write well, or loves to write.
And that is one thing I subconsciously look for — the ability and desire to write. Being a reader isn’t particularly enough, for one can read for a myriad of reasons ranging from desiring eloquence, desiring knowledge, pride and boastfulness, leisure etc. Writing however, is the hallmark of the creative genius, or at least an inclination towards creative genius. This is important because those who create perceive the world differently, think and feel differently. Is this important when it comes to love? I say, absolutely! That way, your love is almost guaranteed to be deep, sincere, intense and unpredictable. It will teach you things about the human spirit, the psyche, the world and most importantly, a lot about yourself that you didn’t know. And what more is there to ask for, or desire?
If you love this kind of person, you will experience emotions you never knew existed, and you will be forced to pay attention and put them into words. A writer’s world is a duality of attention and emotion, and here you will get the best of both, in between sessions of angst, joy and misery. And such is the fulfilling experience, of loving to hate your world, hating to love it, being divorced from it but eternally conjoined. To this I’m obliged to add E.B White’s words from Charlotte’s Web:
“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.”