Continuing from T. S. Eliot's The Cocktail Party:
Oh, I thought that I was giving him so much!
And he to me--and the giving and the taking
Seemed so right: not in terms of calculation
of what was good for the person we had been
But for the new person, us. If I could feel
As I did then, even now it would seem right.
And then I found we were only strangers
And that there had been neither giving nor taking
But that we has merely made use of each other
Each for his purpose. That's horrible. Can we only love
Something created by our own imagination?
Are we all in fact unloving and unlovable?
Then one is alone, and if one is alone
Then lover and beloved are equally unreal
and the dreamer is no more real than his dreams.
Reilly (nee The Unidentified Guest)
And this man. What does he now seem like, to you?
Like a child who has wandered into a forest
Playing with an imaginary playmate
And suddenly discovers he is only a child
Lost in a forest, wanting to go home.