why do we try to explain our point of view to others, knowing they'll never fully understand?
why do we persist despite knowing the futility, because its not a spark of hope, but one of desperation
to truly understand who we are, and be understood for who we are, not who we may appear to be. to have someone truly grok you, and you them. that is one meaning of life: seeking understanding
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in reply to @theophage's post:
i can only wonder that as well
the pity, the veiled contempt and hatred, being surrounded on all sides by walls of prejudice and misunderstanding
what use is language at all if every word i speak means something entirely different to everyone else around me?
even the slightest spark of true connection is enough to make everything feel right in the world to me, if only for a moment
as though everything falls into place around me
as though i am part of my life again and it is not only a story that i have been written out of
there are only a few times i have ever found that kind of understanding
i have nothing left in me to seek it out anymore, i can only hope that i will come across it again and that it will last
and for what it is worth, i hope will come for you just the same