There is some persistant feeling inside me so familiar that it is barely an anxiety anymore. It stems from rich, packed expereinces of a person's company neutured to a sterile exchange of typed words; where the humour arrises from the use of ironic smilies, while each person hopes the other is smiling as their exchnage is fed into the machine.
It's revealing I suppose. There are some people for whom words remain just that - sign posts, news bulletins and stats. Then there are others leave you hankering for flesh and blood details and emotions however coincidental. You hope to be close to them not only in what they claim to have done but also in the very moment they sit & type to you. You want to watch their face as they do it because it's the face you miss. The play of the eyes as you watch a brain at work. Micro-expressions of that vivid life within. Maybe it's the reassurance of a soul you recognise.
All the same, you work with what you have and throw tit bits to the grape vine, remembering that you have obligations.
Some people feel that same psychic pull to you even if you never feel it yourself. What you tell them is never enough. What you tell them will never be enough. They just hope to be included in your life becuase they value what they can learn from it.
Knowing I will never see these people again is frightening. It's the persistent knowledge that with each new day these distant fires slowly die.
I pass hundreds of people in a day, never to see them again. I barely remember a single face. There are too many people to know in a lifetime so the few that risk it to know you & your history are worth your time. They are worth all the time in the world.
So to think your time with such people is through while the earth still has some to spare feels like a crime. Estrangement is the greatest theft. But it makes me wonder - if we had the time, if we had all time, what would we end up doing with it? Wouldn't we just take everyone for granted? Maybe then our sentence to know most people for a breath of time what makes our relationships function.
It's hard to stomach neat conclusions & imagine closure while that feeling remains of a melancholic sickening. Your soul needs the sort of nourishment the explanations offered cannot supply. I can't help thinking that it's when you are in dialogue with something you are alive. When you are left alone, some part of you dies.
It's revealing I suppose. There are some people for whom words remain just that - sign posts, news bulletins and stats. Then there are others leave you hankering for flesh and blood details and emotions however coincidental. You hope to be close to them not only in what they claim to have done but also in the very moment they sit & type to you. You want to watch their face as they do it because it's the face you miss. The play of the eyes as you watch a brain at work. Micro-expressions of that vivid life within. Maybe it's the reassurance of a soul you recognise.
All the same, you work with what you have and throw tit bits to the grape vine, remembering that you have obligations.
Some people feel that same psychic pull to you even if you never feel it yourself. What you tell them is never enough. What you tell them will never be enough. They just hope to be included in your life becuase they value what they can learn from it.
Knowing I will never see these people again is frightening. It's the persistent knowledge that with each new day these distant fires slowly die.
I pass hundreds of people in a day, never to see them again. I barely remember a single face. There are too many people to know in a lifetime so the few that risk it to know you & your history are worth your time. They are worth all the time in the world.
So to think your time with such people is through while the earth still has some to spare feels like a crime. Estrangement is the greatest theft. But it makes me wonder - if we had the time, if we had all time, what would we end up doing with it? Wouldn't we just take everyone for granted? Maybe then our sentence to know most people for a breath of time what makes our relationships function.
It's hard to stomach neat conclusions & imagine closure while that feeling remains of a melancholic sickening. Your soul needs the sort of nourishment the explanations offered cannot supply. I can't help thinking that it's when you are in dialogue with something you are alive. When you are left alone, some part of you dies.
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