journal

Comprehension

March 8, 2008:

Whatever it is, I don’t have it. Whatever it is that ties people together into their tightly knit wholes, filled with each other and bonds in the big, wide, empty world. Or is that what we are all striving for? To escape the lonely void, the abject fear that we are all we’ve got or will ever have. That perhaps, not anyone else in the big, wide world will really get it, you, or me, because nothing is ever that objective. I will never see the exact same way you do and no one will ever see me the exact way that I see myself. We will always be left sifting through what we know to compensate for our utter lack of true understanding. It serves the purpose for most people. But I have come to this realization with a profound disappointment trailing in its wake. A funeral for my dream. Only I will ever know me. Only you will ever know you. Reaching out forever to the requiting middle, hoping our point will finally be theirs, but is only echoed back to us, our true meaning mangled by the others processing. & I find myself wishing for the first time ever that I had someone to talk with. Perhaps not even to understand entirely, but just to listen. Truly, objectively listen. To every first and last thing that enters my head, without spouting back judgments, or advice, or morality, or even the unequivocal absurdity of whatever it is I might be saying. Impossible things. Whatever it is, it doesn’t even matter. It’s like smoke in the wind.

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