#deep writing

The Feeling of Love

As I slowly ran my hand through the cats soft yet messy fur, I wondered if he had ever felt a gentle touch before, one with genuine warmth and admiration.

Before gaining his trust, the trust that now seems so special between him and me, he was very timid and skittish. I would carefully reach out my hand, only for him to flinch and run away.

Though, I couldn’t just give up on him, never. Even though he could not talk, his eyes told me everything he felt, they were like a mirror to his soul.

I knew that he wanted to trust, he wanted to feel admired, he wanted to feel loved… but the hands he was dealt with before, did not show him such things.

So in this moment, with my hand gently rubbing against his chin, I can see in his eyes, a sense of shock, a sense of uncertainty, as if he had never experienced it before.

“Each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding.”— Ralph Waldo Emerson, The American Scholar There are days when writing ceases to be a solitary act and becomes a bridge.One always writes with the quiet hope of reaching as far as possible, but with time one learns that literature without readers is motionless language, a body without breath.…

The pursuit of a goal brings order in awareness because a person must concentrate attention on the task at hand and momentarily forget everything else.