A surprising revelation

For all that I have drawn from Jack and "The Four Loves", I realized today that I actually don't own a copy of it. I borrowed an old hardbound copy from the library long ago, like I did so many others. I never actually went out and bought it, though.

I think I'll order a used copy now; I find myself wanting to read it again, and have one handy to loan out if ever the occasion should arise.

I find myself wishing, though, that somebody would see that copy missing from my bookshelf and know me well enough to give one to me. Fulfilling my own wants is satisfying, but it's so...common.

Am I crippled for dreaming of such things whereas others would never imagine these things happening at all in the first place? Is it because I have the arrogance to believe I'm capable of doing it for somebody else, and want to expect that they are capable of the same?

I'll go order it now. Maybe someday I'll remember this and be able to do it for somebody.

And maybe, by doing so, I afflict them with my disease.