People gravitate toward others in the search for emotional comfort. But the sense of well-being that arises from the relationship can take different forms. One person may consider the bond to be a satisfying—but casual and somewhat superficial—connection, while another may view it as a vital, life-affirming relationship. The enormity of the differences in perspective may seem absurd, almost impossible; but the distance between those viewpoints is real. When the emotional comfort of such an unbalanced relationship falters, the individual for whom it has been life-affirming may consider the fracture tantamount to a death; or a wound that will not heal. But the person who considers it less crucial may not even notice its deterioration, nor realize it left an almost invisible scar.
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Fragment of Fiction Again, JSS
When you were younger, you were wild. You broke all the rules worth breaking. You sacrificed your youth to jarring experience. Over time, though, you learned how to suture the most obvious wounds; making them almost disappear. You honed and painted the skin around them so they would blend with the unmarred version of yourself. You polished away the tarnish of youthful bruises. You replaced your personality with one better-suited to your new persona. But the most obvious damage of youth remains—the cracks and fissures and sun-scorched experiences of your intellect—especially in the blazing light of thoughtful introspection. Only to you, though. And, occasionally, to someone like me. Your efforts to hide your early coarseness become translucent. You still want to break the rules, to shatter convention, to become the definition of “trouble.” Yet you want that side of you to remain hidden, except to me. Or someone like me. Or is it just a tease? When you walk a tightrope between skyscrapers in Manhattan, do you really want me to follow behind you? When you talk about judging dog shows in Paris, am I the Bullmastiff or the Jack Russell Terrier? When you threaten me with a night of cross-country lovemaking on the Lake Shore Limited, am I to be a participant or just an observer? You and I rode in the cattle cars from Abilene, Kansas to Chicago…or was that just a story you told to me? How can I be sure of the truth, when I don’t recognize your taunts? Oh, this is just too difficult. I think I want to know you, but I don’t know who you are. So, tell me.
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Almost 7. I’ve been up two hours. No Ensure, no Propel, no breakfast. Except the banana. And espresso. And, next, the remains of an Asian dinner for breakfast. And recalling the dream in which all manner of venomous snakes, massive reptiles, and whimpering German shepherds tied in bags meant for potatoes (among other creatures) and cheap cars and 1940s-style bathrooms played vital but nonsensical parts.
