What is love? (as Howard Jones asked in a song in the ’80s)

I’ve written this post in March, and I feel now the need to reblog it. Probably WordPress will ask me to add more tags. How comfortable we feel with labels, they’re so useful. In a world in which time is gold a tag helps you to save time in thinking with your own brain. Grab a label from a group and glue it where it is needed. Tags are useful but also unfair. And we do not care. I don’t want not to care. I hate labels because, most of the times, they hurt like daggers.

Wormwood Scrubs

One thing that always haunts me is when, recalling something that I am sure I have read in one of my books, I am completely unable to remember exactly where. But, sometimes, I begin to pull the thread of an idea and I find the quotation.

Yesterday, thinking about a conversation I had with a friend, I remembered a mythological story about the definition of love and the idea that somewhere there is someone that fits you perfectly. Which reminds me also something that I invented when I was a child (I’ve always thought that the life of people without imagination must be a very boring one): there was an opposite of me somewhere in the world. That is, when I was sad, she was happy, when I got good votes she had bad ones, and so on. This “another me”, being my complete opposite, had quite an unhappy childhood…

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