Stranger

I always knew that no person will relate to another, through and through. No one can entirely feel like home, because your own thoughts are the only ones you'll always be comfortable with. No matter how understanding a second person seems, as you dig deeper into the dirt, after some distance, you will always hit hard, unyielding stone. And that's how far a person will relate to you. No one can entirely be your own. There's always a point beyond which the rose petals and sweet words turn into gunshots and painful wounds.
None of this scares me.
But what happens when you find those unfamiliar stanger pieces that you can never relate to, in your own heart?