Just how I feel about writing

Every time I write I feel like I’m getting closer to something. Getting closer to that... work. That piece of writing that goes beyond everything. That piece that perfectly condenses life up to the point of its completion. Every thought, every feeling, everything about my life summarized in one swift metaphor. Summary excites me. The thought of being able to describe my entire life in one sentence, one word, one image - it gives me quivers that I... I can’t escape. I think about it all the time. I can’t help thinking about capturing something perfectly, about jarring every thought and possibility of my imagination and arranging them in perfect symmetry on lines of shelves that stretch on forever.

I am eternally chasing that goal. She runs through the endless corridors of my mind, stripping off her clothing one piece at a time. I chase her breathlessly, in my clumsy strides I pick up each piece of clothing she so gracefully discards. She’s giggling as she turns the corners, beckoning me forward. I maladroitly follow, forever several steps behind, fumbling at the door handles, fumbling at the edges. She’s naked ahead of me and I can see the soft nape of her neck as I bound after her with heavy footsteps and all her clothing draped in my arms. I can see the calming arch of her naked shoulders and the supple curve of her buttocks. She teases me. She twists and she turns as she runs, never missing a step and slowly revealing parts of her exposed body in the low yellow light, but never everything. As I take my final raspy breaths I slow down and I collapse onto the carpeted corridor and I hear her laughter fade into the distant chasms as an echo of dreams. I lay face down on the mouldy carpet and I give up. I give up and I cry as the sound of her laughter and the curves of her body become both a distant memory and a cloudy dream.

This is my first post on reddit. I'm nothing but a novice writer, as you've probably deduced. This is just how I feel when I write, I can't escape this image of chasing a girl who holds the secret to everything through mouldy corridors. Does anyone else have metaphors that nag them to death?