Morpheus was asking me a bunch of questions that I had long ago asked myself, only to come up with no answers despite even spending months in therapy. My ex-therapist use to equal sobriety with not-contacting-Morpheus, like love was as hard to give up as alcohol.
I gave up alcohol (to a large extent, once every couple of weeks, I have a craft beer or a glass of wine).
In my private, paper journal I filled pages, talking about how Morpheus is "not a nice person" (well, he's not; he's not the type of guy to give up his seat on the bus for an elderly woman). After a while, I wondered why I ever loved him at all, and then, I wondered why I still loved him even though I felt--in general--he was a bit of an asshole. Was it his dick? (maybe) Was it his money and his big house? (Probably not) Was it just his smile or his laugh or the way he looked at me, all soft-eyed and sweet? (Probably)
If you really think someone is a horrible person (that is bit of an exaggeration), not trustworthy, a consistent liar, etc, then why on god's green earth do you love him?
Because of hormones.
Probably.
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