I have, and the intensity of pressing the other so close to you that it seems as if you would swallow him whole and devour him, scares me witless sometimes. It terrifies me. It frightens me so much because it merely reiterates the fact that I am capable of such violence.

Juliet had it. She would cut Romeo up into little stars to make the face of heaven so fine, but Juliet is merely a figment of someone�s imagination borrowed and recast countless times. I suppose there is a grain of truth in it somewhere and countless some ones must have felt the same as I did. Love as a hungry monster, which is perpetually seeking nourishment.

Sometimes I feel that we seek sustenance from the other partner. It is an unnatural monstrosity a wicked merge of parasitic symbiotic dependence where we merely feed on each other�s weakness. Hamlet�s parents certainly did so, and throughout literature we find that lovers often act like that.

I detest it, yet I love it. Somehow you only think of the negative-ness, the frightfulness of such an image only when you are away from the other person. You are unable to draw upon the other�s presence, or perhaps it is more accurate to say, that the other person�s presence clouds your mind so much so you do not see the fearful animal instinct beneath it, merely the pleasure and the growth.

Perhaps it is merely what society dictates as proper civilized behaviour, which renders the situation as thus. You are afraid merely because this is what society dictates that love should be controlled passion, not what it is, a animalistic cannibalistic norm.