I have an Itch

I.
Have an Itch. 

This Itch emanates from the centre of my being. Right at the junction where pleasure and pain are defined. I respond to the stimulus and I scratch, but instead of abating, the Itch increases in intensity. 

Yes.
 It is exactly what you think. 

Concerned not to embarras myself in public, I rush to the privacy of my room. I take agonising minutes to rid myself of all barriers. 

I must. Repeat. I simply must give this Itch all the attention it requires. 
I must scratch with all diligence. 
I must itch this Itch with all the thoroughness it deserves. 
All encumberances out of the way, I settle down to itch the Itch. 

Oh No, wait. The door is open. 
I can't afford to have this Itching session interrupted. I need my privacy to do this right. I bolt out of bed and bolt the door. 

Finally the stage is set. 

As I begin, I carefully explore all the angles and poke into every crevice. 
Gently at first, I soothe, and then I get into the heat of the event. 

Awwwww, sooo satisfying. 

Before I get carried away, let me let you in and give you a brief 
background to this Itch. 

I woke up this morning with this Itch. 

It's been coming and going for the past 72 hours and i kept ignoring it. 

However, it came out in full force today. Indignant, I guess at being so contemptuously ignored and it's demands outrightly denied. 

Hmmm, this Itch. 

That restless feeling that makes me know there are feelings waiting to be "speakings", thoughts churning to be aired, lines roiling to be penned. 
This Itch that tells me: 
"Put it down". 
"Shout it loud". 
"Make it known". 

It assures... 
There are patterns to be analysed, emotions to be dissected, feelings to be discussed. 

It makes me know that impressions would soon turn into expressions. 

It is that concentration of grammar that makes my throat tight and my fingers fluid. It makes my head float in the skies with my feet firmly planted on terra-firma. 

This itch makes me, even if just for a fraction of a nano-second, a part of the select group of humans who have a way with words; those mortals 
who imitate immortality by employing verbs and nouns and adjectives, who with proverbs and oxymorons and metaphors, and all other such parts and figures of speech create a world of their choosing and discretion. 

Magicians who, regardless of the limitations of organised language, weave the fleeting strands of imagination into a colourful tapestry of "reality". Masterfully dissipating one affection while whipping into frenzy, a passion for another. 
Sonorously orchestrating what would have been the discordant clangs of our individual experiences into a harmonious tune of our common humanity. 

I have spoken. 
I have written. 
I have thought. 
I have crafted. 
And. 
I have created. 

Semantics, concord, lexis and structure aside, The Itch seems to have subsided. 

Whether I made sense or not would most likely be the source of another itch. 

For now, I simply roll over on my stomach and savour the bliss of an Itch-free moment...