sometimes loving someone
means being a stranger
it means their world is better
safer, without you
the mind can’t be clouded
by what it doesn’t know is missing
just think of all the pains you haven’t suffered
because of causes non-existent
backwards reasoning, maybe
addition by subtraction
enhancement by way of absence
sometimes loving someone
means being a stranger
availing yourself of
sure — at times,
to love someone,
you got to be a stranger
unless love itself
is what made you estranged
Author note: The line, “Sometimes to love someone, you…
I’ve always had a hard time facing certain parts of reality. It’s probably why from a young age I had an irrational fear of doctors, dentists, therapists, police officers, bosses, you name it. I couldn’t tolerate someone else telling me how I was doing.
Strangely enough, though, I always liked teachers. It’s probably because a good teacher didn’t just diagnose you or tell you what you were doing wrong. They added to you. They enriched you. It was their job to improve you.
A good teacher didn’t just treat you and send you on your way. They gave you information…
We all know we’re weird. But we have this sort of detachment from it. Like, we partition the grotesque and humiliating parts of ourselves off from the well-adjusted “normal” version of us that we’ve devised for public consumption.
I think that’s part of why most people don’t like to spend too much time alone or in quiet places by themselves because that’s when they will start to hear that voice in their heads. The voice that knows all the stuff, the voice that contains all the memories and perceptions of all the things we’ve ever done.
So much of ordinary…
You’d never ask a random person — someone who’s on their phone or laptop, for instance — to tell you what they’re looking at on that screen of theirs. How invasive, preposterous, creepy that would be. Yet, without fail, if you’re a person who reads paperback books in public, then you are just begging for people to be like, “hey, whatcha readin?” I’m telling you—you could be mid-sentence, mid-climax, devouring the greatest dialogue you’ve ever experienced — and now, you have to explain to someone what you’re reading. Ooof! Some person who is dying to know — it’s just tearing…
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Maybe I’ve just never worked at a place where I could tolerate being there for longer than the required time, to the point where I actually felt like it was worth staying longer just to learn about the other lonely people. …
It’s a zoo, this internet. And there are fewer and fewer parts of it that allow the animals to be themselves. But one guarantee is that people will always be more true to themselves behind the private enclosure of a computer screen than they will be out in public. That’s life. That’s technology.
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