A Man

He is stubborn, finds seeing a lover’s point of view in a conflict as a major loss like a ceding territory in a 19th century war. If in a conversation, in a moment of strategic oversight, he does understand my perspective, he quickly frightens at registering the loss of acreage. I imagine him seeing a whole plain lost in this game of victory and failure. This frustrates him, and makes him rescind his last statements or turn them around, where suddenly I am the one mistaken, and it is me who is terribly and perhaps, maybe, irreconcilably flawed. And then I am utterly perplexed. It seemed we were finally becoming one, in understanding each other, finally, reaching the highest state in empathy and care and I am dropped from my near climatic point to fall thousands of feet.

I almost fell in love.

In that brief moment of heard expression. In that fleeting minute of patient, courageous listening, I was falling deeply, passionately in love. And then, like a sudden frost, the changing leaves dropped from the trees before the brightest colors had yet to show.

As if the whole process of two people understanding the other signifies the loss of himself, the loss of his best interest, he fights it with all of his might. I think about his mind. It is a domination, subordination grid, if I win, he is my slave, if he wins I am his. Is that how it works?

Then I realize as I think more, that I begin to understand him. My need, despite its substance or matter is inherently in conflict with his, as it is outside of him, and my comments , rather than about a way to express who I am and my own opinion, are a remark and commentary on his value, his worth, his something, I am not sure. And while I talk about how I feel, avoiding blame, he quickly attaches labels reflecting my inherent flaws- otherwise my feelings would have to be addressed.

And so somewhere along the way, the number of taboo topics increase, we cannot talk about his best friend, cannot talk about his parents, cannot talk about my feelings when he hurts me, until I am suddenly, deadly silent and mute. I wonder about this. In this modern, intellectual society that we travel in, how could it be that there are men that still refuse to communicate, still resist compromise, and negotiation, abhor collaboration, ultimately fear vulnerability, failing to see the inevitable bliss of the creative power of two people’s hearts and minds as one?