for the wanderers

it's funny, the people we're drawn to. i don't know how it works or why it works or why feelings are a thing that exist.
why do we enjoy the company of other people.
but somehow it satisfies us to talk for hours about things that don't matter and are never really going to matter. even though it always ends up being the little snippets that matter the most, however cliché this may be. emails and letters and little bits of conversation that you've kept, for years, for no good reason.
they're easier to keep than flawed phrasing and dead ends and exact words.
i don't know why humans work or why they like to hurt each other and love each other at the same time. like why have we lived this long we're monsters.
we're monsters.
our emotions make us monsters and our lack of emotions make us monsters and the fact that we don't know how to deal with ourselves but we think we can deal with other people. 
but i guess we do what we think we can.
even if it's not much.