It was always I who did the talking, and she who stared with fascinated eyes… It was I who poured myself out to her, and she who listened. That was how I knew I loved her more. With my mouth attached to my heart, I gave away my love in endless babble; it was all I could do to force a moment’s pause, to hold my breath for an instant before going on. I needed to tell her everything..everything. And she so graciously accepted. And she loved me passionately…but not the way I loved her. Not the way my world was turned upside down, the way I breathed and walked in a state of colliding ecstasy and despair.
Neither lover desires their part in this unequal relation. The lover who loves more only wants his lover to love him as much…and the lover who loves less wishes subtly for the transformation of her lover into something more. That same lover wishes she had no such wish…and bitterly guards the secret knowledge that her love is the smaller of two flames.