I’ve wondered at times why it seems so important that we find someone,
romantic partner, friend, sibling, parent,
who really sees us. Who not only hears what we say,
but understands it.
I think I have it.
Unless you’re a published author whose nearly every thought
has been recorded — in fiction, biography, poetry, journal —
the only person who really knows you,
All of the little things that make up yourself,
the entire collection of your thoughts and experiences,
which conspire to form who you actually are,
is only complete in your own mind.
Unless you have someone with whom to share it.
We need this
when we are gone,
we know that there will be at least one
that knew we were here.