Nothing that matters is carried alone.
In the end, it has to be met.

You can go still enough to sense what matters. You can trust the knowing when it comes, and reach for what is not here yet. And even then, none of it is finished until it is met. Until someone turns toward the same thing you turned toward, and holds it with you. Significance that no one meets does not vanish. It only stays heavier than it had to be.

To meet someone is more than to be near them. It is to sense what matters to them, often before they have said it, sometimes before they know it themselves, and to let it matter to you too. It is the rarest thing we do for one another, and the plainest thing we were made for. Most of the loneliness I have known, in myself and in others, was never a shortage of people. It was the absence of being met.

So I do not believe any of this is private. What you can sense, you can sense in someone else. What one person holds, two can hold more easily, and the more we hold between us, the more we become able to feel. Care is not a softness laid over the facts. It is the thing that carries what matters forward when nothing else will.

And if any of this has reached you, across all the quiet between us, then that is the whole of it. You were met, for a moment, by someone you may never meet. Now turn, and meet whoever is near you. That is where the way has been leading. It was always leading here.

We are made to be met.

Curtis

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