Most days I crave for a decent conversation. One I can understand, be a useful contributor, learn from, relate to. I want to ask questions and be asked. I want to be fascinated by new ideas and have my own ideas challenged. I want to hear of distant places, messages from home, something funny, dramatic and even just plain dull. I want to hear the sweet voice of excitement and the resonance of somber thought. I want to hear a new joke and not know when to laugh and an old joke and laugh too soon. I want to see the tears of joy and sorry and frustration as I hear about families and friends and enemies. I want to know what is new and what is news, to contemplate the future and analyze the past. How nice it would be to pause in mid-sentence, be interrupted or be lost for words, hear a raised voice or move close to a whisper, struggle with an accent or dialect and chuckle at the idiosyncrasies of slang. What I would give to have that.
Most days I spend alone.
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