There’s nothing quite like understanding another human being.
I mean, we exchange words.
Stories, experiences, confessions.
But how often can a person say:
“I know what you’re feeling,” and actually mean it
before a single syllable has been uttered?
How often do two people conceive the same image?
Perhaps there are minor differences
and some of it is lost in translation
but can we ever really see what the other envisions?
The greatest art form is neither seen nor heard.
It is in that delicate space,
that 4th dimension created
when the eyes of two unwitting strangers meet for the first time.
It oscillates violently amidst the silence shared
by two momentary lovers sitting adjacent on the morning commute.
But the greatest tragedy of it all?
The only way to comprehend this beauty,
to be able to write of its wonders
to be able to sing of its sorrows
is to have fallen completely in love
and lost it.