Suddenly it occurs to me that the collective unconscious that drove Jung was mostly filled with love. Now don't all you folks who know all about this stuff start pointing out my misunderstanding. This is for me.
Who are the lucky ones? The fools who wile away the hours waiting for the next romantic drama to pass through life or the ones who feel less and remain oblivious to cupid's arrows?
Who cares? I suppose I know where I fit. I'm not sure I'd change it if I could.