"Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman)."
— Milan Kundera (The Unbearable Lightness of Being)
I love this statement but it makes me a little uncomfortable, a little squirmy. I have a habit of cruelly kicking lovers out of my bed for the sole reason that I'm physically unable to sleep next to them (nor do I want to sometimes) but that's not why it makes me uneasy. Mostly reading it makes me want to fall in love and falling in love is scary. But I don't want run of the mill 'this-is-so-easy' love, I want the kind of love that makes you ache inside, that consumes and devours, screaming matches that end in frenzied, violent lovemaking and glances from across rooms that leave you breathless. I want love that makes the world stop, when the lines between lust and loathing become so blurred you don't remember why you're even still in the game. Because the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference, an absence of where emotion should be and isn't. Call me a romantic but I'd rather fuck and fight and wake up next to someone knowing that it's the real deal than lunch at Nobu, pick out china patterns at Bloomingdales and wake up annoyed that they're breathing on my ear.
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