Le coeur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point. - Pensées, Blaise Pascal.
“…An average of seventy-four species become extinct every day, which is a good reason but no the only one to hold someone’s hand…” -The History of Love, Nicole Krauss
Somehow, in the most seemingly-masochistic way imaginable, I love becoming so close to people that I may well never see again, at least not for months or years, even. I like the phone calls, the letters, trying to remember precisely how they look, down to the very last detail, and letting imagination fill in the tiny gaps that memory has stowed away with time. I like the security of knowing somebody to such a great extent, to be so close to someone while they’re actually thousands of miles apart. I like how there is never a scarcity of things to say, and everything that you do or see around here is completely different from the things they do or see around there. I like the feel of such a distance, and the glory of the triumph over said distance. I like how quickly the friendship has to grow up and mature, and how it sort of transcends time, and nothing quite grows old because something new is always growing out of it, like flowers that bloom all year round; from the ground and dust and stars we have come, and to the stars and dust and ground we shall return.
I hope that this makes sense.
