We have spilled much ink you and I on our discussion of human connection and we are no closer to understanding than we were when the correspondence began. I often feel as if am standing on one side of a wide cosmos shouting across wondering if the response I hear comes from you or it is my own voice echoing back to me. It seems to me on my side of the canyon that the search of unity with another is the front of much of the world’s unhappiness.
I watch as my friends eager as ever to extract some meaning from the prevailing social conventions endure a series of curated meeting rituals. It seems to me that they are incrementally less content each time they return from one. I conduct myself as though am above matters of the heart chiefly because I have seen them corrode people I respect. But in my candid moments, I sometimes take the steps I do because love for lack of a better word is a game I fail to understand and so I opt not to play. After all, if I have the purity of all my convictions, I wouldn’t regret so many of the things I’ve done, nor would I persist against so many of my better instincts in this correspondence.
I find you a challenge, one that inspite all that you’ve done continues to stimulate; and so the conversation futile though it may finally be continues and we are left to wonder, have we simply failed to find the answers to the questions that preoccupy us? Or can they not be answered at all? Fortunately for both of us, the world always presents the next diversion, the next elaborate distraction that vex.