How many times have I come and said that I have found someone. A friend, or as Anne of Green Gables put it, a “kindred spirit.” I know I haven’t said it many times. Or, rather, every time I did, I was sorely sorely disappointed.

Every time, I placed a lot more value on things that weren’t valued, a lot more meaning in things that were truly meaningless. Just caring too damn much about things that were frankly inconsequential, or rather, not to me, but to them. And that's what matters. The people who cared, not—not to the same degree. And that. is. what matters.

I know I often set myself up for it. That I came with a self-fulfilling prophecy, or I had impossible expectations, put too much pressure on things or analyzed potential into oblivion.

It's just that, once again, or, for yet another rare occasion, I feel I've finally found another friend. Whatever that can and will mean. Already I fear I've placed too much value on this, as of yet, non-validated, truly-existing friendship. (This blog entry, for instance.) I must remember to steel myself. A conversation does not a friendship make.


But oh, what a conversation. I feel a lot better. Thanks.

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