'Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.' Albert Camus

I hope I’m old enough and may be wise enough, to know that what I think means little to most people.  Just a few chosen ones take steer in my thoughts, and I am so happy that they do, as it – well, validates me.

But of them?  Do they feel validated by my thoughts and approbation?  Do they even need it?  Some will, of course, but not all.  And they are the ones that may actually mean most.

Do the ones who say nothing actually have that respect and love for my thoughts?  If so, why don’t they say it?

How difficult it is to respond to someone’s moment of revelation, suggesting that you might have done the same as an opponent did.  To react in a time of weakness in an extreme fashion?  To push away, rather than draw him to you?  Perhaps not.  But to feel the same, and be saddened in the same way.  It’s almost as though your thoughts were not cared for.  And that would hurt. 

And yet the thoughts are cared for, just some things are not considered as important as others – I truly believe that when needed, it would be told.

There is no question that omission is a form of protection.  If you don’t crystalise it into words – written or verbal, there is a chance that it can be avoided.  For yourself, you hide from what could be – but not accepting that it is, until it is there for real.

By hiding the truth from someone, you do not expose them to it.  
Even if, by hiding – or simply omitting an event from conversation, the other person feels left out.  One should never forget that fear of loss is often greater than the final knowledge of loss. 

And surprise is greater than both for some people.  They can’t handle change, or shock or new facts. It destabilises their world, and they (if they are a controlling nature) cannot handle that they did not control the situation.

Or perhaps it is just a weakness, and selfishness, on the part of the person receiving the news.  Fear is not yours to have.  You will not have to go through the pain, only the fear.  Being protected from pain, is an honour – but not always necessary.  My father omitted several key things of his life, and the revelation was many times more painful than the telling would have been.  The irony is, that I might not exist if he had told the whole truth at the earliest occasion.  I might also have stopped him (or tried to) doing the things he thrived on, if I’d known the truth at the end.  And that was not my place to do. 

I believe I am a different person today.  Although I have been spared from personal tragedy, I hope I have learnt from others.  Listening to stories, and assessing how I might behave in the situation.  I would not stop someone doing what they want.  I would not judge what was right for them, but listen to what they wanted.  For in reality, I have been there too, and suffered alone what slight concern ate at my soul, only to evaporate in the mists of understanding.

I would support in any way possible; and knowing that I would be there for them, hope that they would be able to do a little more, live a little happier, than without me.

It need not be explained, that loneliness will wrench the very flesh out of my chest cavity, dripping with bloody pluralities of anger and despair.  It need never be said that the tears will run torrents like Angel or Victoria or Niagara; but they will, until the springs of heaven run dry.  It can never be adequately discussed that the time was too short, or the distance is too great, or the world is too unworthy.  And all of those will be true.

I just hope that my eyes will show those things, and their heart will know.

The world is so short, and too extreme to explain.  Let us thrash the pants off it, until it fails to fight any more.

Post Script:

I'm a complete contradiction, obviously.  On re-reading this, I see I've discussed myself round in a circle - first saying I want to be told, and then saying how I won't tell someone the very thing I would want to be told. 

It's a quandry, isn't it.  There will be moments when the only thing to do is to spill your verbosity into the share-space; stop time with profound statements and be fluent in literary wonder.  Use allegory and metaphor to describe something that is pain personified.

And yet there would also be times where silence is longed for; where the words stay hidden or locked away in a cavernous emptiness; where you cannot speak, and where words are not wanted.  At such a time, it would be a simple touch of the hand.  Of the face.  That speak volumes.

The one key to getting it 'right', is to know your inner foe and embrace your hidden friend.  And hope that neither run from your side.