What is called “love” necessarily requires an active attitude of the beloved. This to me is so obvious that sometimes I wonder where the forgery is: if in the word, in the concept, or if precisely this generation subverted the feeling that for centuries was called “love”. Modern love, above all, presents itself as a necessity, a desire of being the target of an effort of others, to feel valuable, accompanied, stroked by someone who undertakes to please. If the beloved takes his apathy, then “love” fades. Petty this non-literary love, whose suppression — whether by distance or disruption — hurts only by the finding of the lack of pleasures (effect) generated by the active attitude of the beloved… I know, I know… I am exaggerating, but as I said: in my sparse and brief experience, I have never seen a lover who loved a tree, nor a a stone…
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