I read the way some women write about love, and the anguish of losing it.  I listen to the way some women sing about it, saying they would rather die than to exist in a world without them.  I read about how some women feel the man they’re with is their entire purpose for being, that he is her everything.  I enjoy taking in their experiences as a voyeur, because I feel very detached from the experience of being hopelessly, madly, deeply in love.