I don’t wanna know you; I want to share mindless moment with you.
I don’t want to know you. I don’t. And no, I mean ‘know’ not in the Biblical sense, (you know, ‘Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived’) — heaven knows how much I want to know you, in that sense! (Did I just say that out loud?!). I mean ‘know’ in its literal sense.
I don’t want to know you because I cannot know you without reducing you, your magnanimity, your cosmic beauty to the smallness and plainness of my mind, without putting hallow labels upon you. I cannot put label upon you without letting familiarity, tedium grow between us, or in the words of Owen Strand in ‘9–1–1: Lone Star’, “Every time I put a label on something, it ends up being an expiration date”.
I wish to be with you without trying to know you. I want to shut my nosy mind off, be present with you, in the moment, and share, live the moment, a pure, mindless moment. These mindless moments between us are melodious; there is a melody in our mindless presence in the moment that stirs our souls, transports us to childhood bliss. We live eternity in these fleeting mindless moments.
I do not want to know you forever because I want to keep the intrigue, uncertainty, excitement, freshness in our relationship. That way, sixty, seventy years in marriage, sitting next to each other, in our rocking chairs, we would remain lovers, not turn tolerant partners, at best; still courting, still on our first dates, fifty times fifty times fifty first dates; our relationship still throbbing, pulsating with life, excitement, love.
That is why I do not care who you are, where you are from, or what you did, as long as you are here with me, present, in the moment. I do not trust you either, nor do I want you to trust me — trust not the person, but the moment with the person, its truthfulness or the lack thereof.