but the important thing is, you don't know that person... you think you do, because you share a specific moment in time, a memory, a part of your heart, but it's only a glimpse of who you think they are. a partial truth is worse than a lie; it's the worst kind of nonfiction there is... because that little bit, that morsel of being - it's not who they are. yet you hold onto that fleeting moment, that piece of memory as if it's your reality...
and then you wonder why the real person, the one that exists in the here-and-now, disappoints you so much. because that is the entire point to this story - to this lesson you can't seem to learn - that the real person is nowhere near anyone you want to be associated with. it's nowhere near anyone you think he is. it's the biggest disappointment of your life. and your heart breaks for the person you want them to be.