First love smells like chestnut blossoms. It tastes like mint chocolate chip ice cream. It sounds acoustic. When the sun sets, it's in vivid orange, and when midnight comes, the moon is silver. That's first love.
So lately, my over ambitious creativity has lead me to, among other things, begin writing a short story. Yes, thankfully not a novel. I have too many projects I never finished to start (and not properly finish) another one. The plot of said short story operates on one thing: memory of first love, so I titled it "Sanctuary".
I find the writing of it to be incredibly cathartic. I think everyone who has experienced any form of heartbreak remembers first love with an accuracy other memories lack. The story itself is a memory, as recounted by the main character. I enjoy getting to switch tenses instead of POV, and emphasizing the contrast between his previous self and the now is a welcome challenge. I'm not exactly sure how to write it; I started with something of a thoughtful and quiet winter scene with a lot of thoughts interspersed, but have grown tired of the energy that required of me. I'm not sure where it's going now. In my mind, I have an outline that resembles nothing more than a skeleton sketch of pale, gray lines. That outline must be filled with my own ideas and perspectives.
Slowly, I can sense that my own first love experience is bleeding into his, and it keeps bringing out the old memories. So I have tracks from years ago in my Spotify playlist and plenty of inspiration just waiting for me whenever I need it, I suppose.
-A.K.-
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