Ultimately we are not as others see us
we are mysteries to our closest friends
we are hidden, silent, reserved
We are not worth contempt: contempt implies mastery
no one is the master of another's soul,
by information about it, within it, or ownership itself
we are not worth pity, for that implies understanding
complete and undiluted
as hard as we try, we can only get the general idea
as it is with a studied language, native elsewhere,
the language of humanity is burdened
by lack of perfect translation. rough idioms can do for a while.
even humans in love only suppose or suppress,
guessing at the many meanings in a statement,
being happy with their lot as long as words are taken
in a most favorite way.
too often, love is spoiled by misinterpretation,
or abuse of the language--substituting false friend
homonyms for words with the power to endear
is there such a thing as true love?
is it wordless, communication-free, a contingent existence
in the same space with another?
Could the answer lie in the relationship of two who
do not communicate at all? this is self-defeating.
you can't know another's existence without communication.
to love is to misunderstand. to love successfully
one must lie to one self continually. to juggle such
affection, one must want it badly enough to pretend ignorance,
blindness, trust.
some say this is happiness.
the value judgement before us, in this hypothesis, is
that on happiness or awareness.
i regret that i cannot choose between the two right now.