Flow, My Tears, the Policeman Said.

by Philip K. Dick

‘Love isn’t just wanting another person the way you want to own an object you see in a store. That’s just desire. You want to have it around, take it home and set it up somewhere in the apartment like a lamp. Love is’ – she paused, reflecting – ‘like a father saving his children from a burning house, getting them out and dying himself. When you love you cease to live for yourself; you live for another person.’

And so, like a rabbit, like Emily Fusselman’s rabbit, froze where he was. Hoping as he did so that everyone understood the rules: you do not destroy a creature that does not know what to do.