It never ends

Oh, just now a comment made my heart ache. It's strange how some things can only be explained by the heart, which makes them all the more necessary. Yet, the speaker of such things (the heart), can only be understood by a certain number of people. This sounds horrible, but I feel like I made the right decision, even if so many other people disagree.

I genuinely believe that someone just spoke to me from her heart, which had wishes that clashed with my heart. After all, we're not the same person. Our nuances make us the people that we are, and this was bound to happen, especially with the level at which we were corresponding. It hurt me to hear her good wishes for me, especially because they were far-removed from coming true. I'm not one to be impatient with such things, but it seems too distant for my current state of mind. Perhaps I was never the person that she saw in me, or I simply don't see the same person in the mirror that she sees when she looks at me.

That shows most clearly of all the two years that separate us, the experience and the sense of power that radiated from her sense of knowing, of self-understanding that I seldom find outside of writing. Perhaps that's why I look at her and I see someone that I can be in two years. Perhaps we could have been friends, if I didn't see her as someone with so much to offer, and I with so little to offer other than my shy, mild outlook. Once again, these are my own troubles. Who am I to ask someone else to deal with them and deal with them for me? I have friends because I managed to get past these things with a select number of people.

We may have disagreed, as I have disagreed with many people over this issue, but in the end, we saw eye to eye. Not that it really matters, in this little, unknown slice of cyberspace that will never quite reach reality. It is but a microcosm of my faults and fortes, after all. Still, I know that she's right, just like the words that I write when no one is looking. Those few words I hide, because I'm afraid of what the world can do with a well-placed measure of self-confidence. Outlooks and inferences are easily corrupted, after all.

I didn't expect such a comment to hit home. That's never happened before. I guess that's what I get when I talk to a creative writer with my skills and her skills in the same miniscule litlte arena that I set up for myself. I appreciated it, of course. It was just difficult to communicate with such depth on some bit of reality that never required such depth to me. School, that is. And school is supposed to be out for the summer.

I'm currently working on a story. I'll post it once I finish typing it up. That electronic task seems to be the hard part.