The art of conversation

One of the benefits of getting older? 

The level of tolerance to people who choose to disguise their simple mind into an elaborated one, dropps significantly.

If I have to draw a map in my head, before engaging you in a conversation then I might as well refuse to share more than a good sense required “Hello”.

Somewhere on this path of mine, it was challenging to figure out what topic would give my partner the chance to fully share his knowledge. Now, I see it as another way for worthless people to look expensive.

I love humans for having shades, opinions conveyed even in the most inappropriate times or ways. I can even love their moods or their irritating  habits.
I will not love them when they will make me feel like my accuracy and my need of authenticity is wrong.

I enjoy the company of those with whom I can be as witless or as clever as I feel, while they can be the same, both parts understanding the value of the other.

If I talk to you, I want to feel like I am soaking in a pleasent, fragranced foam. I want to feel my chest open, my eyes following yours and both pairs should reveal interest.

I will lose the ones who find themselves pretentious in conversation and in demands, but in the same time, unable to share any authentic thought. They just take over some overwhelmed concept of a bright mind who passed 100 years back, and they will try to alter its meaning thinking that I will buy it as a  genuine form of expression.

I am not a big deal. I am just as damaged, as lonely, as joyful and as dramatic as any other individual might be.
But I am concrete. I can define what I can’t digest. I know now, after years of dealing with my own and other’s cluttered mind, what I want and how I want it.
I can shamelessly discontinue any useless talk.

You can be whoever, own whatever. When I draw a line, at the end of my day, what’s left is the way you made me feel.

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