By Gunnar Fairbairn
WANT Original Content
Welcome to WANT’s newest column. We were built around news but we are now ready to expand our reach to the realm of creative writing (which we have dabbled in previously). Each week, our resident creative writer Mr. Gunnar Fairbairn will post a prompt and his response to the prompt on WANT. We encourage our readers to not only read his masterful work but also respond to the prompt and submit a response/create your own piece of creative writing. Graphics are great too! All submissions will be posted to WANT’s new “creative writing corner.” Enjoy!
Prompt: Given the quote “Love is a funny thing,” write a piece of writing (story, poem, article, personal narrative)! Take about 10 min and interpret this quote as you see fit. Different forms of interpretation are what makes it interesting. Begin and end your piece with the quote.
“Love is a funny thing” It certainly does not happen all at once. Love built up for me in the 7th grade. I would say “hi” to the apple of my eye and that would be it. She would say “hi” back completely unaware of the bomb being assembled in my body. Another day I would ask “How are you?.” This was indeed a great step forward from “hi”, but also miles away from love.
Later still I would create curiosity behind my few spoken words. I would want to know “why” and “how” and even the “where” of her feelings. She may have not liked me investigating her “wheres.” People tend to find that stalkerish. Beside the rather that rather relevant fact I proceeded onward. I would always ask “how are you?” and never turn the opportunity to sit next to her. Sometimes I may provoke her opinion on something rather arbitrary.
You might be wondering what she said back: how she might have responded to the persistent attention. As I said before she would say “hi” , but oblivious to the fact that I admire her. She would ask “how are you?” using my familiarity against me. She never showed a break in confidence or cherry-ness. She may blush somedays and not even respond other days. She was strange in her responses; random even, but she made me stranger.
It can be understood that love was persistent thing in me. I had employed the explanations for reasons to talk to her. I had employed the scientific method; first doing my researching, hypothesizing that she loves me, and then “oh why did I try this?” I exclaim. I must never test my hypothesis and ask her so that my bomb of a heart doesn’t grow bigger and implode me before exploding in me.
I asked my mom what to do, saying “how do I figure this out? How do I know if she loves me too?” My mom she never knew the answer. I charged forward powered by my volcanic heart. I committed my frustration, exasperation, to the annihilation of all doubt and fear in my mind. I tested my hypothesis.
Months later I barely remember the feelings. Every tool in my body used to construct my bomb simply vanished away for they were not necessary. My arms were longer now and my eyes yet stood unchanged. So shouldn’t my view on love have stayed the same as well. All of my greetings, curiosity, and eventually sorrow become a fiction. I guess my mom was right then “love is a funny thing”
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