Reminiscing over my old ensemble (or more exactly quartet) music over the past week, I have a good feeling for what I’m missing.

I’m missing that connection with someone. The one that makes me feel like a person. That makes me feel like there are others out there like music. That listen to music like me. That watch shows like me. That play games like me. That read books like me. That share of piece of what makes me me, in what makes them them.

My quartet music exemplified that. I played music with people that could feel, move within, anticipate, and feel that emotion and passion within the medium. I crave someone who shares some of those aspects with myself. I crave someone who delights in musical tastes like myself. Who can lay on the floor or cook and bounce/dance to the music like I do.

I crave someone who loves the suspense that I read. Someone I can share my literary conspiracy theories with.

I crave someone who shares my passion for tinkering with things. Loves to understand how things work. Wants to pick something apart and put it back together to learn. Contemplate. Coherently incorporate.

I’d love to have people to fill each of those niches, if not more than one.

More than that, I want someone to fill some of those, and almost understand how I think. I can’t believe I’d ever believe that at first (sooooooooooo hard to believe people share my ideals/morals/way-of-looking-at-life), but I want to connect. Know that I’m not so ridiculously unique that people can’t connect.

I guess I don’t know how to describe it any further. I’m inebriated with mind-altering alcohol. I heard too much pensive music. I observed people making their typical maneuvers through daily life. I lost another part of that uniqueness I strive to identify and grasp onto every day.

I really should sober up. I’m no good this inebriated.

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