Whines and woes.
It is as she said, I suppose. You'll never truly tell if you have deep affection for a person if you don't have the capacity to utterly loathe him.
To you, you ignorant imbecile who smiles and whimsically manipulates me for your own means, while I am captive in your aura, I despise you and yet at the same time, I do wonder what I wouldn't do for you. Nothing that would deprecate me to the point of crippling me, intellectually or physically, but emotionally -- well, let's say I'm exploring the limits.
I watch you push me and I watch you stand by while little blows come my way and I sit in darkness laughing to conceal the anxiety that I feel. How I can hate you and still hold such affection and tenderness for you is beyond my mental comprehension.
But that stubborn little muscular organ, on whom I have a lovely Anatomy final on (on Wednesday), hidden somewhere in the cavity of my chest knows better than the mass of grey matter and nervous cells that I already had a test on last Tuesday/Wednesday.
How ironic. We go from the nervous system, receptor potentials, to the muscle cells, to the brain, to the heart.
I see a lovely pattern.
Its the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.