In spite of language, in spite of intelligence and intuition and sympathy, one can never really communicate anything to anybody. The essential substance of every thought and feeling remains incommunicable, locked up in the impenetrable strong-room of the individual soul and body. Our life is a sentence of perpetual solitary confinement.
I don’t have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of abandonment. We all screw things up. I screw things up, especially with people I love. I get needy, I get moody, I get distant, I want to be close, I get confused. I don’t understand all of it, but I keep pushing because I hope this thing, this universe, there’s no way that I’m the only person out there who wants something this bad, if I want it, someone else out there must too.