Filed under: Grief, Love, Subjectivities | Tags: difference, Luce Irigaray
“I love you” is addressed by convention or habit to an enigma – an other. An other body, an other sex. I love you: I don’t quite know who, or what. “I love” flows away, is buried, drowned, burned, lost in a void. We’ll have to wait for the return of “I love.” Perhaps a long time, perhaps forever. Where has “I love” gone? What has become of me? “I love” lies in wait for the other. Has he swallowed me up? Spat me out? Taken me? Left me? Locked me up? Thrown me out? What’s he like now? No longer (like) me? When he tells me “I love you,” is he giving me back? Or is he giving himself in that form? His? Mine? The same? Another? But then where am I?, what have I become? – Luce Irigaray, ‘This Sex Which is Not One’ (1977).
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