Understanding Fiction

Understanding has always been a fine-tuned skill of mine. It’s all a type of logic. Understanding exact systems, like math, is easiest; there are set rules. You understand the rules, you understand the system. Understanding people is more complicated. People rarely understand themselves, so you can’t take what they say into full consideration, yet what they say is the only thing you can knowingly act on.

People are complicated. They bare themselves completely, then disappear without a trace. They change their minds. We take these things as forms of deceit, yet they are not. People change their minds. The unfortunate moments are when we have made our decisions, but the other person makes clashing ones. We wonder what was the deciding point. We often turn those questions onto ourselves, as if we were the deciding point. We were not. If the problem was us, then there would never have been a decision in the first place. If the problem was us, they would never consider choosing us. The problem is always within them. That much I understand.

What I have learned that I will never understand is why the feeling stays within me. Why, after so many months, do I dream of him? It is no longer all-consuming, but it is consistently present. These feelings make me question how the universe works. If what I feel does not go away, does that mean he also feels it? Or does it simply make me unable to move on. Living the life of the unrequited.

The certainty of a different future flows somewhere within me, but there is no malleable reason for this certainty to exist. Yet it does. As a logical person, it is tremendously difficult to not analyze how this exists, but I have come to the realization that there is much more logic in the universe that we do no know nor understand. As humans, we can only understand a minute portion of the universe’s logic. We do not understand intuition, yet we accept it exists. I believe similar concepts also exist, and it is in this unknown area of the mind that lies my non-malleable certainty.

I do not know if you think of me, as I think of you, but time is passing and I do not wish to spend it waiting for fictional outcomes. Now if I could just convince myself of what is fictional…