Must be, love is some form of egolessness, coming from deep admiration.

Tonight, the author of these Letters talked with his/her last, best lover for over an hour. Despite always enjoying these conversations, and never feeling disappointed, said author is never moved to make any commitment, never moved to really give of him/herself. Never moved to really just love. S/he can be generous, giving time, energy, attention… But the relationship, no matter how cheerful and interesting, never calls out so strongly.

Looking back on romances past, the author questions whether love ever occurred. There has been intense interest, some generosity as noted, great sex, good jokes, caring, tenderness, mutual compatibility. But never has he/she given over to the relationship, putting it before all else in life. Always the author's ego made the next move: to move on. Is that what, really? Is that what it is?