human relationships are difficult. often, we are caught in a sea of obligations and burdens — I am your friend, so I should listen; you are mine, so you should care. we create these dependencies between us, and codify them in rules that govern the relationships we title ourselves as existing within. I am your friend, daughter, partner, sister.
many of our actions are simple rule-following. they may be punctuated by affect, or authentically motivated for the sake of the person (and not yourself!); but in absence of affect or such motivation, we would do the very same things. maybe not in the same way (and maybe that makes a significant difference), but the same things. I won’t interrupt you no matter if I like you or not. many of these relationships we fall into, or are otherwise born into. continuing to exist within them is the path of least resistance, and they do good for us and others. so we stay. but (and this is what this nay-saying leads to), there are often times when we remember and create (at once, together) the significance of our relations with one another.
this happens, I think, when we share our feelings. not sharing in the sense of one person speaking aloud their traumas, anxieties, joys, while the other passively receives. nor even when that listening is active, and you can find yourself comforted, sympathized with; when someone sits with you. both those are good. but there is another thing, a time when you share what is at the very surface of your mind, the very last thought that you’ve had in all its (large, inchoate, hesitant and true) meaning and depth, and the other person, in response to you, does the very same. your thought is met by theirs, and you find yourselves to be co-creators of a little world. you may be sitting across from one another, lying in bed beside each other, or miles apart staring at each other through some new technological void. but what is created is a space, whose sole occupants are you and the other person. just your thoughts, just your feelings (your being, it’s your being), just this atmosphere. it is a space you can feel, you can sense; that evokes wonder. it is fragile, and if the other person doesn’t buy in, it gets lost. but sometimes you two can exist in it.
(no one else is there. the news doesn’t matter, facts don’t matter — what matters is what is on the surface of your mind, and that you two can share it with each other. no one else is there!)
you grow in this space, as isolated as it seems. you carry it with you long after it’s gone, after you’ve grown tired of holding up a created world (it is exhausting work), and it serves reminder as what your relationship with this person can be like. what is actually, literally, can and has been like. there is no metaphor here; it is a memory that illuminates and provides corner to your existent relationship. sometimes you remember it when your relationship is suffering, you recall what it was like and lament that it is that no longer. sometimes it can lead you to try and salvage the relationship for its sake, and its sake alone. something so wonderful should be fought for. and sometimes this can push your relationship past how it ought to be, straining, with too much pressure, with too much deliberation, something that must arise organically — not without intention or effort or good will — but organically. the brittleness of the force, can cause it all to break, you, them, the relation, even the memory can be disturbed and pushed to a destructive doubt (was it even ever like that? that couldn’t be real could it? I must have made it up). this is the worst case, and I want to recognize the worst case because that is where our minds go so naturally, because this world is cruel and we must push past the worst case at all times in order to say something that reaches.
but it was there, and it was real, and even though it couldn’t have lasted forever (is that right?), this potential to create with another person, is what I think lasts as one of the most beautiful aspects of relationships. there is beauty and value to duty, to care, to feeling and spontaneity; and there is beauty also, and quite significantly so, in these little worlds we make with each other. that we always, somehow, have the potential to create with each other. there is an ebb of energy, if we recognize it within ourselves, if we can push past the muck that shrouds our spiritual energies, the energy we have to connect with others, that sits within us all and waits to be awakened. there is meaning everywhere, waiting for us to birth it, to mold it; and it exists profoundly in our relations with one another. it’s everything of human experience. everything.
just really, everything. I know this adds nothing to a written explanation, but there are some things that find themselves caught between the spaces of the right repetition. everything, everything. (maybe we can leave the written word); everything.