A Very Brief Digression on the Subject of Love
There are a certain number of people in the world who are at their best and happiest when they are alone.
They roam across their private terrains like tigers, with the confidence of animals who know that no one else will ever steal the deer they want to eat for dinner.
This sort of person will never waste a moment’s time talking about how little they yearn for or need someone else, just as a tiger will never sit up and suddenly start talking about how a true apex predator would never need to hunt in a pride.
The sorts of people who loudly declare that they’re much too strong and independent and tough-minded to indulge in anything as gooey and irrational as love are, generally, the opposite of what they’d like to be.
They’re as delicate as ferns and as fragile as pigeons’ eggs.
Rejection of their love would be a blast of wiltingly hot summer air. It would crack them right open.