Listen Morty, I hate to break it to you, but what people call “love” is just a chemical reaction that compels animals to breed. It hits hard, Morty, then it slowly fades, leaving you stranded in a failing marriage. I did it. Your parents are gonna do it.
“There are so many crushes in a lifetime, so many friendships that mix desiring-to-have with wanting-to-be. It’s the combination of wants that makes these longings confusing, dangerous, and queer. There is a desire to know that is already knowing, a curiosity for what you deep down recognize, a lust for what you are or could be. Writer Richard Lawson describes it as “the muddied confusion over whether you want to be someone’s companion or if you want to step inside their skin, to inhabit the world as they do.”
Excerpt From: Jenn Shapland. “My Autobiography of Carson McCullers.” Apple Books.
I have already proposed that there are lovers who stand out from the rest because we experience them as so irreplaceable that even a definitive parting of ways does not entirely banish their imprint. The reason for this is that such lovers touch what I would like to call the "bedrock" of our desire. This bedrock is the deepest kernel of our being, articulating what is most archaic, least socialized (and therefore most idiosyncratic) about us, particularly about our ways of seeking satisfaction in the world. As a consequence, whenever a lover manages to awaken this kernel, he or she almost by definition cuts into unconscious layers of our interiority that are absolutely fundamental to our being yet also a little mysterious-shrouded, as they are, in the impenetrable mists of our prehistory. More specifically, such a lover activates currents of desire that are so essential to our sense of self that we would not recognize ourselves without them.
In chapter 1 l mentioned that although we may, across the span of our lives, meet numerous people who pique our curiosity, there are usually only a few who raise our passion to a feverish pitch. Those who do are the ones who-often unintentionally and without being fully aware of their power-brush against the bedrock of our desire. They stir our desire on such a primary level that we sense that our destiny is inextricably intertwined with theirs. This is how we sometimes come to feel that certain people are "fated" for us-that we do not have a choice but to respect the thrust of our desire even when this desire gets us in trouble.
| Mari Ruti, from The Summons of Love
Nkem noticed the tense Adura chose to use, how it was so present that the woman might as well be there with them; how at the mention of that name, Adura smiled so softly that it peeled a decade off her face.
you were the first person I loved without needing to escape. You didn’t do drugs, so I couldn’t dump my head in them. We didn’t have sex, so I couldn’t throw my body at the issue. I had to look at myself, and maybe that was the problem? She said, Not even once?, returning to the sex thing with shock. I wanted to slap her, but instead I just said, No, not once. She asked me if I regretted that. I told her no, that we knew other ways to communicate, other ways to love, other ways to touch each other. The conversation made me miss you even more. It reminded me that most people think sex is where love goes to graduate, that sex is where love matures. I always forget that we’re not the norm.
Everybody in their lives is really waiting for people to ask them questions, so that they can be truthful about who they are and how they became what they are.