The main idea is to tell it to somebody not connected. The first and foremost law of dissonance and peace is to always blurt the hazy, dangerous content only to those who do not know, aren't subjectively involved, and who do not really care.

This is not hiding, this is redirecting the energy of a killer laser beam to an atmosphere where it would strengthen the solar power or whatnot. Opening the gate only to the alternative allows you to build the trust foundation with that human, and not destroy another.

What I would have to tell you would kill the part of us we could live without. It would kill the "us" part and let the rest live on. What I do not tell you, I tell a sheet of white and faces careless and irrelevant to you. I save my comfort zone by not answering the call of clarity, of self-explanatory clarity that I already own. I trick my own ignorance this way, backing up the line of thoughts that have some rational sense in them, and try to save most of the living parts and abandon the rest.

The rest being, straight talk and dual clarity. For you to engage in. I'll handle it on my own, knee-deep in arrogance, because I'm that very strong. You're not needed for your own protection. Nor mine.

Ours, maybe. But we've agreed that doesn't exist.

It's the sort of straight talk we all want to believe so hard to be executing. Well I've got news for us all, sunshine: our combined straightness in communication isn't enough to drown a fly in.

We talk and talk and we all wear badges of merits of all the beliefs and strong-willed opinions we hold so dear, yet when it comes to actual meeting of opinions, nothing really holds against a sound argument. Then, emotions, or a discreet breakdown. Your choice, really.

What is funny about the matter is that this confusion with the self-proclaimed truths and general rules of everyone's individual little world is actually helpful when it comes to clashing ideologies with humans you actually prefer keeping around. You just don't want to blatantly deny them, and twist your own idea, maybe seeing something new and fresh, a point of view that has been obviously so beneath you, you needed help to retrieve it from the depths. Surely.

You might turn your idea, then theirs, later on, playing, toying with a thought that has been so solid and unmovable before. All that weight, lifted easily, and those diamonds of mind, formed like wet clay. It all becomes the sort of game you played as a kid. Ridiculous, but so very serious at the same time. Trivial, yet vitally complex. Maybe you get to a point where you get a revelation that you just didn't catch before, or simply point out a problem you can ponder over for weeks instead of getting riled up in everyday, mundane stress.

Me, I get the revelations - more often then not, painfully obvious, basic workings of the world, knowledge which others are born with. And then I get that childlike sense of purpose and share like I do, with all seriousness and importance, imagining that what I have to say you don't already know from seventeen different sources. By the time I realize it was essentially useless to note, it is in the past, done, external, out of my hands, gone, done, dead.

And then I go and talk to you lot, wonderful humans, crazy humans, my favourite humans. And then get baffled by the perspectives, and then break down, and think and play with an idea I'm going to reintroduce to you as something new and not reused. Funny, really.

So watch me laugh and tell me your innermost, holiest beliefs. Break them with me. Show me the path I've missed with being so very simple. Drown me in the complexity of endless possibilities.

I've found the quote on one of the rather rare lazy afternoons, and I had to stop myself smiling, while reading it. It was a sappy Buddhist pseudo-quote - well as sappy as they get -, saying that when you meet the one you love, or maybe it was soulmate, I don't remember, your heart won't race and you won't feel butterflies and whatnot. You'll feel at ease, calm as a pond, tranquil.

And since I am completely aware of the misfortune that you I cannot even put into the bullseye, I cannot simply wrap you in this little description. You were, however, the person in my mind when I read those words, and the thought of you made me smile. Because that peace I've felt with you, that lack of all noise, stress, depression, emotions, well that was the most refreshing thing I've ever felt.

That said, I'm half-lying again, as I did tell you what made me feel that way, although then I called it the feeling of home. Because growing up without one, searching for one all my life, this is how I imagine it would feel like, to be at home. To be at ease, secure, motivated. Where you can walk around oddly, without a destination, talking odd things, and be happy about them. Maybe even get some resonance to answer and bring some tea to.

Writing, is what made me feel so. That's what I called it to you, over the table.  Planning it, doing it, working with it, the whole process is such a blissful place, or time, or dimension, or whatever you prefer calling it, of serenity. Now I have something to compare it to. You, to writing. Writing, to coming home. Coming home to you - well not that, sadly.

But who says translations and decoding didn't fail at one point, misinterpreting whatever connection it was they call love nowadays. Both the trashy and the elevated, because I can't tell the difference. I think what the Buddhists might have meant is any connection close enough to make your whole being resonate with happy calm whenever you get them close to yourself. That would be a much broader version of love I could legally stuff you into without embarrassing you and myself.

Have you ever clicked through these posts, I wonder. They are all silly portraits of people little changing me loved, all of their features and habits filtered through a thick layer of distortions I call my perception and memory. And look there, the loveless lover now whines about you!

But hey, you are home and that's that. You got me home by those well-aimed sentences, shot carelessly about creation. Well, not carelessly, I can't even imagine you being careless about that. But you made me type again, made me banish more words to the past, made me talk to the inner circle again, and reflect. Whatever, whoever, and however far you are, I feel gratitude towards your little soul. Now I have someone to blame why I began again.