'...Being loved makes me feel directly the gap between what I am as a determinate being and the unfathomable X in me which causes love. Lacan's definition of love ('love is giving something one doesn't have...') has to be supplemented with: '...to someone who doesn't want it.' Indeed, are we aware that Yeats's well-known lines describe one of the most claustrophobic constellations that one can imagine?
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'