written into my notebook, late one November night. 

The world is a very lonely place in a way. We are born alone, we only ever experience life through own eyes, and we die alone – even if we’re next to someone dying at the exact same time. In another sense though, we’re never alone. We’re never the only person feeling melancholy, or ecstatic, right at this moment. It is not the first time a person has been in just this situation. But still, alone. No one will ever understand you, or buy you the perfect present every single time.

So, humans choose to make connections. Relationships with other humans, to soften and mitifate this aloneness. hopefully, they do this knowingly. Knowing that it is irrational to expect these things of someone else, but doing it anyway. Leaving no reserve, and no thoughts of some Perfect Other. Knowing there is no perfect, once you know someone well. Choosing a companion to carry in your heart and head. A tie to this earth, to life, to your animal self, to your madness and irratinoality. To your capacity to love and care for something Other. To hold and be held.

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