Tag team blogging

So here is the thing.
I don't write about you.
Or you. Yeah, You, really you. Any of you but especially not you. Some of you, I know wat you think. You think, bitch! Thats about me! Or that I write about him. Or her. And sometimes I do. But not as often as you think. And more to the point, it is never, ever, really about you. Or him. Or her. It's about me. These thoughts and memories and impressions...they are me...they are tidbits and echoes and the scant residue of my own impressions. A piece of me. Because I was the only one there. I was the only one there in my mind.
And I'm perfectly aware that I could walk into a room and have a whole conversation and remember it in a fully different context than you did. I am more and more cognizant of the fact that when we were lying bed looking into eachothers eyes I might have been thinking sad deep thoughts and he might have been thinking about his rear shock absorbers. I know that we were holding hands and maybe he was thinking of breakfast or time in the park or her. Or her. Maybe she was there the whole time when I thought we were the only one in the room. Maybe he thought we had a moment and I only had gas. No, really, that was just a burp, not a smile. I've been in love with men who never loved me back and would, now, barely give me a second thought. I have a full storage of memories about at least one man who subscribes little significance to any moments we ever spent together and is surprised his dog even remembers my scent at all. Thats how it goes.
I mean, it's not all a deficit. One of my best friends once described this moment in beautiful clarity that I had not only fully purged from my memory, but whose beauty, at the time, had been fully lost on me.
Thats just how it goes.
And so it goes.
I'm not saying people can't share a moment. No. that would be unfair. But I am just saying that you never really know. So in the end, this reflection, it's you. You are the one seeing it and smelling it and feeling it and you can only speak for you. And I can only speak for me.
And here is the thing. I used to find this sad and unsettling. Off putting and isolating.
Now I find it comforting. Freeing.
I need only be responsible for my own thoughts. I can never really know how it is for others so I'd like to stop trying. And more to the point, isn't it nice to share the space with so many different vibrant people with equally different and vibrant impressions?
I mean, sure, sometimes it hurts. You don't want to be looking into someone's eyes and feeling the love while they recount their grocery list. You don't want to know that.
But you also can't control that and I'm prone to believe it all comes out in the wash.
But either way, and more to point, it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. You are standing their and being their and talking and speaking and what should matter to you is how it feels to you and what it means to you and what you, YOU are getting out of it. Leave them to their grocery lists of their fairy tales, or maybe that same exact mirrored moment. Either way you still have yours, And the moment you stop second guessing others thoughts and impressions you gain that much more time and space to really appreciate your own.