I don’t know where I got the notion, but I’ve been thinking about the need to divulge every detail of an experience and why it isn’t always necessary. Rarely, in fact, unless it serves a specific purpose in the piece. In my case it’s about a night with a girl and how fucking fantastic it was.

My first instinct was to sit and write out the whole night in detail. I’m not usually shy in that regard if I feel it’s something worth writing about. I even told her that I might feel inclined to do so. Unfortunately, I was immediately blocked. What exactly should I write about? Dinner? Bed? Champagne? Dark hair in my hands? The elasticity of her flesh? How much or how little should I divulge? And, ultimately, would it be more interesting to be sparse with the detail in favor of keeping it as a raw and fleshy memory as opposed to a soft and romanticized nostalgia trip? These were considerations. Questions. I’m usually over and done with those by the time I’ve had breakfast.

So, back to my point of refrainment. I’m foggy on my motivation to notwrite about this. I haven’t consciously decided that this is something to keep private, but that might be the case here. Perhaps it is too boastful to spill it all like so much champagne on goose flesh. Or, I suspect, I was so blown away by the experience that I simply have nothing to write about. The dial turned to 11 and there’s no use in putting something like that into words. It couldn’t possibly compare.