Dear redamancy,
(n.) The act of loving in return.
To love and be loved in equity is a sweet feeling that cannot be replicated in any faux peculiarity. Or rather, that is the conclusion of my research. I envy those who can experience such. No, not because I cannot be loved. (Though that is likely true as well). It is because I cannot love.
I ponder the concept often, but it seems impossible for me to understand such an affair, for I love not even my kin. Assured, I admire people: few, but surely. Yes, I enjoy some people’s presence. Again, very few, but I feel it for certain. But love? A wonder to me. Is there really a feeling beyond like?
Allegedly, love can muddle the senses and evanish all common sense. Why? What is so special about a person that you can abandon all morality and humility? When was it decided that such a word could hold the indescribable power of longanimity giving way to impulsiveness and indulgence?
Perhaps I am a sociopath. I do not care for others. Empathy and love I cannot understand, and seem extremely inconvenient. I am very curious as to why humans feel the need to ignore their own needs for a stranger’s: to befuddle every lesson they have learned in their existence: to devote their lives to a person who has the power to ruin it: to simplify their once complex beings to one purpose: love.
I cannot envision myself doing such a thing or even experiencing the want. Perhaps I do not envy the people who can, as it seems futile in life’s progression.
Even with all of my criticism, I am still curious and wonder what it would be like to love and be loved in return.
Sincerely,
Tangerine Boy
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