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  She surprised herself sometimes. How easily she felt attached to things. Some were material (and insignificant) things like a cup, a pen, a notebook… But most part of the time that happened with no material things but “ideal” things and by that I mean: stories, songs, TV series, characters in those books and series. And she didn’t really know why.

  You may think that was because those objects or fictional people brought her back special feelings or moments in her life, or because she related those things with real people close to her: friends, parents, siblings…

  But the most suitable and evident answer – and, in the other hand, the most painful one – was the need of love. She was so eager to love, she felt so much love inside of her that she needed to share it… even with things. In some way, she released those feelings because she thought that, if she didn’t do it, they would destroy her. And that’s why she changed the target of her love from time to time, because she didn’t get what she was looking for, she never got love in return.

  But that way was easier, much easier. Loving things cannot give you back the love you put on them but you cannot be reject either. Rejection. She couldn’t imagine how to deal with it. Of course, she had suffered it sometimes (like anybody else) but never from someone she really loved because she had never been brave enough to love someone real. Imaginary life was easier, simpler… happier. She could live the life she wanted over and over again, without fear, being herself or someone better than she really was. And she was never rejected because she was always admired and accepted; she was always loved. And she would always be.