Love of a Child

I recall my parents angrily informing me, as a child, that I couldn’t possibly love. “What do you know of love”, they would ask. “You’re just a child.”
What does a child know about love? Why does an adult know about love? Furthermore, what does an adult know about love? I often feel that only a child can love. An adult seems both psychologically and physiologically incapable of love. Before the child learns the ease of lies; before she’s thrown into a social sphere wherein the unconscious dominates; before she glimpses the utter unreliability of even her closest companions…just before this introduction, the child has the opportunity to love. It emerges from such a presumably innocent source. We’ve no reason, it would seem, to love that little boy over there…

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