“I don’t know,” my friend shrugs. She’s a fresh 22 and looks at life with much more cynicism than I did when I was her age. “I don’t see Catherine with any man. Somehow no one seems to fit her strength.”
I look at her for a moment, then nod, “I think I know what you mean.” And yet it feels strange to hear myself saying that, especially since my friend only recently told me how much I remind her of Catherine on occasion. So what does that say about me?
“She’s so self-sufficient,” my friend continues. “It feels odd to suddenly see her so vulnerable, so needy.”
“She isn’t needy,” I protest before I realize my friend has struck a chord. “She just wants to be loved.”
“Yes, maybe.” A laugh.
“And she deserves to be loved,” I argue with someone who I know is too young to understand the pain that lies in the realization that, by the end of the day, love is as rare a find as luck.