But it’s not exactly the newness of a relationship that scares me. I’m frightened of loving a man to an overwhelming degree—to where I’d need to be loved by Thatcher. Necessity is life, and I’m afraid to need his love like I need air. I can’t tell him this. I can’t say, Oh, Thatcher, I’d rather only fall mid-deep in love with you because I don’t want to need your love like water in the Sahara. Part of me longs to feel that un-reversible depth of emotion with him, but the other part resists completely.
