Sometimes I feel like if only I knew more, knew just the right sequence of words, I could make it all better. I wish I could believe that.

Someone has hurt you, and the only way I can make you feel better is to try to get to the bottom of the matter with that person. Standing in the way of resolution is this question, and I have to answer it. This question has a finite number of answers. There is no possible answer that will not hurt you. I must answer, but cannot.

I wish I could still believe that everything can be solved with more data.

But there are no easy answers to tough questions, and sometimes it feels like the more information you have, the more you know, all it means is that you have more potential to just hurt, destroy, make things worse without meaning to…or maybe that potential is there all along, and all this connection does is let you realize that you have done so, and what you’ve lost in the process.

Tonight…I know the surface details, and I know I’ve been implicated in all of it somehow, but it just plain doesn’t make sense.

But the bitch is that there is nothing I can do to make it make sense. Damnit, but that’s what I do, that’s what I’m here for, I live and I breathe in problems with solutions, puzzles. I’m a pattern matching engine with a little bit of person wrapped around it. But puzzles involving people is where it breaks down; I don’t understand people. The subtleties and the nonlinearities of people sometimes just leave me in a spinloop where I need to be there for someone I care about, but anything I can say can only cause harm, and any question I can answer can only create more questions, branching seemingly endlessly into ever more murky and uncomfortable depths, like an ever-expanding windshield crack or a lie.