we know nothing of each other

Spend any time watching people pass and stories will emerge in your imagination, completely false, of course, but rich, melodramatic stories about why this person should definitely not be with that person because…and she’s got all those bags full of proof that somebody’s been cheating, and he’s covering his ears like that to quiet the voices that tell him to scream at the injustices, oh, the injustices. These stories are incomplete. They have no beginning or end. There is no inciting incident, no rising action, no climax. Just a brief middle moment of your invention that has no bearing on the truth of that person passing by. Among the terrors of the world is the realization that we are ultimately alone, that no one can fully know us. We barely know ourselves. But that terror offers a promise of possibility. There’s a potential mystery in everyone we see. And who doesn’t love a mystery.