… Have you ever been completely loved before? Not the romantic kind of love, not the parental kind of love. I’m talking about the kind of love that’s complete. I know you don’t understand what I mean, and I don’t expect you to. Actually I do expect you to know what I mean, because I want you to experience it one day. Or maybe I don’t, because it’s the kind of love that will make you fragile. It comes by as infrequently as a red moon, and once its gone, once the feeling it leaves you with erodes away, you’ll feel like a useless, dry lake, desperate to see that red moon again.
Complete love is love with no missing pieces. It’s a love that’s interested in everything you’re interested in. It’s a love that cries more for you than you’ve ever cried for yourself. It doesn’t care about that thing you did. It doesn’t care who you are. It laughs with your laughs, and it puts its hands on your hands and even though you know it has other plans it speaks only to you for hours, and hours, and hours, and after it all it smiles and sings to you, and you realise you’re the only person in the universe that matters to it. And you say, “How is this possible? I’m repulsive, I’m ordinary, I’m flawed – how can I be the only person in the universe that matters to you?” And then the love envelopes you and you weep, and it weeps with you too, and it kisses you, and although it’s a complete love, its completeness is limited by time, and it says goodbye, it says it will text you tomorrow, and then you’re left wondering what to do next.