There are people I love.
Of course there are, everyone loves someone.
What I mean is there are people I love besides the people I birthed, was birthed by, or choose to live with.
I love my family, and I tell them all the time, but there are people who I love and don’t tell.
I don’t know why. It’s not premeditated. It’s not like I sit around and think of dark, devious ways to keep my loving feelings to myself.
I guess I don’t really think about the fact that everyone isn’t inside my head (and believe me, you lucky bastards, that’s a good thing) and so I can’t expect anyone to know things unless I tell them.
The breakdown in interpersonal communication. It’s the curse of the techno generation.
But sometimes I’m reminded that other people are better at conveying their feelings than I am.
Like yesterday. My friend Cody had mentioned on Twitter that he was catching up on my posts. It was very sweet and made me smile.
And then I had the following text conversation:
Seriously, have you ever thought about how much a simple statement can mean to another person? My mood went from “meh” to “fuck yes I’m awesome” in milliseconds.
And it made me sad that I don’t do that more often.
I mean, why do I have nice thoughts about people and not tell them? Why would you keep something like that to yourself?
It’s a total rush. I have it in me to totally make someone feel fantastic on a daily basis. I should do it. Often.
And I think I will.