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It is not all that different with friends, except that the object of desire should not be each other.Friends stand side by side, not looking into each other’s eyes as lovers do, but out- ward and upward to common interests.

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We saved special clippings and books for each other, shared Thanksgivings, vacations, a shrink.

I obsessed about her when she was away and was thrilled—too happy probably—each time I saw her.

This is the boundary that Agnes and I had been crossing, blurring our purpose, confusing our passion. We wanted to have a vision together, to work together, change the world together, encourage each other in art and romance.

Like many friends who are smitten, we mistook these signals and fell into erotic patterns that nearly ended the friendship.

Friends differ from erotic lovers in key ways, but in others they are identical. The possessiveness that corrals our lovers is the same one that tries to lasso our friends.

In romantic love, jealousy may lead to sex, giving it some added value and meaning.

We deny the cravings we feel for them, how we pine for them like Tristan and Iseult, the inordinate, contradictory feelings that friendship should not prompt, say our minds, but often does. We cleave to our friends for a sense of completeness, affirmation, belonging, and love; for memories to honor and promises to keep; for intimacy in its numerous colors, stopping short of the bedroom door. With lovers, we may be nipping and tucking, behaving, fitting to play a role of desirability.

We are often more comfortable with our friends, more able to be ourselves, than with our lovers, and this is how it’s meant to be.

This convinced me that we were sweethearts of the soul—married in spirit—and plunged me yet further into a welter of feeling too complicated for friendship but somehow uncontrollable. There’s a reason that Eros, that mischievous god, was believed by the Greeks to be the brother of Chaos.

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