Last week, in one of my stomach ulcer-inducing dreams, a friend and I were discussing the absolute sufficiency of holding a person's attention. I was excited just referencing the idea of being looked at in the eye as I talk and the feeling of being the only person in the world. I said, "I wish he knew I felt that way," and then I woke up and shuttled away my instincts.
My lungs were holding significantly less oxygen and he laughed at me as I stumbled out of the car and promtly to my desk to vomit into my waste basket.
I was awake all night with thoughts I had no concern for. I told my brain continually to shut off, but all I could think of was fairness and a certain thing for which I want to fight. And worst of all were the jumbled thoughts from earlier in the day:
"I just never have understood how love isn't enough. In my experience, love is the only thing that is real, the reason for everything, the very breath of life. Love is what we were created out of and placed on this earth to give. Love wakes me up in the morning and provides me with work and a purpose and relationships; love is my comfort in sadness and my reason for existence...it is the essence of being; and yet when it comes to dating, love alone is hardly enough to sustain through insecurity and fear and misunderstanding and failure and disappointment. There are such politics and nonsense which circumvent what should be the bain of a relationship: love, which commands respect, which births appreciation, which caters to compassion, and so on."
