I'm adept at setting myself up as an object of pursuit. It's never so cold blooded while one is doing it; let me bask in your adoration. Let me distract myself with you; let me love you, in my limited, incapable, traitorous way, until the whole thing rots from the core. There is a power in being the object of unrequited love, even if it's painful and ugly, even if on some level--and eventually all levels--you hate it.
My power needs to come from somewhere else. This is not because of cruelty, although that would be enough; it's also antithetical to what I want most.
Equality or loneliness. We'll see which.