I can’t see
you, if you don’t have anything to say to me. I can’t set a day, an hour, get
dressed, leave the house, drive to the café, order a beverage, sit at a wooden
table, on a wooden chair, wait for you to arrive, or find you waiting for me,
sit there, look into your eyes, and not say anything of value.
I don’t
believe that we don’t necessarily have to talk about “something”. I will not
talk to you, unless it is urgent, unless it is important, unless it is full and
breathless. I won’t speak if it’s just worthless chatter, cheap gossip. I have
no energy for empty conversations, meaningless words.
Words are
too taxing, words spoken are laden if I am not coming to you, if you are not
coming to me. I can’t “just meet”, I can’t “just talk”. It has to have meaning,
it has to be valuable. Whether we are discussing ancient China, or why there aren’t
enough women philosophers. I want what I say to you, what you say to me, to be
like emptying a jug, all of the liquid must be poured. Feelings and opinions must
be spilled. Dispositions and deep convictions must be drank and tasted, before
the vessel is filled again. I don’t want to leave a full jug any more, I can’t
repeat shallow exchanges about work or the weather, I have no time for silly, courteous
niceties. I either empty you and you empty me, or let’s not meet at all. Let us
stay burdened, heavy, separate and alone.
There is
already too much emptiness, too much nonsense and I can’t add more waste to the
pile, to the mountains of nothingness that exist all around me. It’s not that I have
anything better to do with my time. It’s not even that I’m busy. But I will not
take another step towards anything, that does not have the power to make my
senses shift, the eye of my mind blink, the bird of my human take flight.
