>>24501653 (OP)I don't know love. Not really. I believe it exists and I think I've seen it before but I don't know it. Love is selfless; it is a self-emptying; allowing what lies within to be drawn out for another, allowing another to enter, to accept a sharp knife into one's most vulnerable part. I am not selfless. If you cut me there would be no blood, just dull flatness, like cutting into a block of rubber. The circle of my life has never been breached, has never included another; I am a mirror reflecting myself endlessly. I think I would like to know love, one day; but to want this is like wanting sleep. The desire is the obstacle. No one loves by first wanting to love.
This is not to say I do not feel loneliness, or that I do not care for others besides myself. I simply do not speak the language of the rest of humanity; I am out of phase; there are transmissions in the air, in the water, through the light of the sun, which the human race understands with the ease of breathing, and which are utterly invisible to me. I have built my life by carefully guessing at the meaning of this hidden language and aping the motions of its speech.