I knew a woman once who would say; “tell me you love me” knowing that I didn’t in the sense that she meant, nor she me. It was purely for reassurance and the feeling of belonging. Another I knew would have ran a mile if those words ever passed my lips. She needed the reassurance of noncommittal to a relationship. We are all the same but so different in our search for that comfortable place to park our emotions. Are we a concept in our own imagination, fitting the requirements at any given time? Could it be said that we are fictitious, moulded to the dream never really knowing what we truly are?
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Daniel Kemp’s Books