That’s what Sartre said. But he didn’t mean it. I mean, he didn’t mean what people think he meant. I think.
It’s not that other people cause you to be miserable. If that were true, then we’d never fall in love. We’d never miss someone. We’d never feel that buzz in our fingers before we take another person by the hand.
We’d never stare at someone else, watch as they bit their lip and smile, and wonder what they’re thinking.
We’d never ask and wonder if they were telling the truth.
We’d never lose sleep over that question.
We’d never want to give so much to another person, and we’d never learn so much about ourselves in the process.
We’d never hate ourselves so much for the things we learn.
We’d never cry when such a masochistic string ended, and we’d never.
Want to relive it.