Why did I do it?..
It is almost another kind of love, being loved. It is the same heat but from another room; it is the same sound but from a high window and not your own heart. Brave or carefree people will not understand..
But for some of us, the young or old or lonely, it might seem a palatable substitute and better than we have. We are not in love, but we are with someone in love, and the spare dreams of their days are all of us.
The Confessions of Max Tivoli, by Andrew Sean Greer, Page 66-67
It doesn't mean that I agree with this, but hey its a good explanation. ;p
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