It is a permanently extremely curious idea that love, the thing we think we crave and miss so much when we're alone, might frighten us, that we operate, all of us to some degree, with a fear of engulfment.
We might have met them a month ago, perhaps four or five.
We went in at high speed, bored of the usual compromise and cowardice.
We quickly exchanged I love yous and may even have mentioned marriage.
But now they're fully on board.
The barriers are completely down, and we, much to our embarrassment, are feeling unusual.
The fear doesn't manifest itself as fear exactly.
We're a mixture of numb, nauseous, and frightened, all without apparent cause.
Someone is in the background trying to feed us something of uncommon sweetness, and we are queasy.
They brought flowers last night.
