It occurred to me today that far too many people are entirely friendless...
I was watching a couple of people interacting at the coffeehouse today: people who had absolutely nothing in common, who had absolutely nothing to talk about with one another, and yet conversed almost hysterically, talking about various things in their lives that the other had no understanding of. I can only imagine the unsatisfied feeling they both had when they left: so much leaving their mouths, so many events discussed, and even though they had audiences, their audiences were unresponsive except to interrupt with: "That's like me, I--" and go off on an entirely different tangent.
I felt bad for these people, so desperate for someone to hear them and understand them. There are BILLIONS of people in the world, and yet so many people who have nobody to really talk to. I thought for a moment of that Beatles' song: "All the lonely people, where do they all come from...?" Where DO they come from? And how do they all seem to end up in coffeehouses just waiting for a real friend to discover them, and know them?
It would have been a really depressing day, had I allowed myself to keep thinking about it, but I ignored the thought, and looked outside instead, at the first sunny, warm day I've seen since... well... probably October.
But now I'm thinking about it again, and I'm a little bit sad. Not overly so, just enough to necessitate a melancholy CD and a journal entry.
~Helena*
"You know what happenes when two people talk. One of them speaks and the other breaks in: 'it's absolutely the same with me, I...' and starts talking about himself until the frst one manages to slip back in with his own 'It's absolutely the same with me, I...'" --"The Book of Laughter and Forgetting," Milan Kundera.