I guess I am wondering if I should stop digging just because I know I will never understand someone fully. Or stop someone else from digging into me. Cuz… that’s what I do. I dig. I care about the little stuff like what you ate for dinner last night and what your favorite TV show is, but to be really honest, the stuff I really care about is the stuff that keeps you awake at night and makes you wake up in the morning. I care about how you really feel about something. Or someone. What you really think about the world. What you think about your self. What you think about the condition of your spirit. And if you don’t think about any of that, why you don’t.
If I am convinced that I will never really know you fully and vice versa, is there a point to knowing any of that about you?
I suppose that is why I have always been averse to small talk. It’s like we have to do the little talk to get to the big talk and I have trouble getting over that hump. It feels fake to me moreso than not. If it was socially acceptable, I would start off every conversation with hello, who are you? I mean, who are you, really? (Don’t worry, I won’t do that, but that is what I am really thinking.)
I guess that’s why I gravitate toward people who are bleeding. Bleeding life and the joy and pain it brings. That might be why I have the illusion that I know someone by their artistic expression. Oh, and don’t even try to convince me that you don’t bleed. We all bleed.
I guess that’s why I’m writing this post now.