Desire: that animal without morals

Desire is neither good nor bad.
That is the first lie we learned to repeat so we could sleep peacefully.

Desire doesn't ask if you love your partner, if you have children, if you promised something, if it's Sunday, or if you have to get up early tomorrow. Desire appears at the worst time, with the worst person, in the least convenient place. And it appears all the same.

That's what's uncomfortable.

Freud said it bluntly, even if it was later wrapped in difficult books: desire doesn't obey consciousness. It lives elsewhere. It enters through dreams, through slips of the tongue, through fantasies that no one confesses, through that absurd attraction that doesn't fit with the life one has so painstakingly built.

Desire doesn't seek love. What it seeks is satisfaction.

That's why it doesn't understand fidelity, coherence, or long-term projects. It can coexist with love, yes, but it doesn't belong to it. And when you try to repress it completely, it doesn't disappear: it disguises itself.

It becomes irritability, distance, sarcasm, insomnia. It becomes a double life.

Sade was even more unsettling because he dared to say what no one wanted to hear: that desire not only ignores morality but often delights in breaking it. Not because human beings are perverse by nature, but because limits excite them, prohibition intensifies, and what is considered proper is often lukewarm; even cold.

Sade wasn't talking about monsters. He was talking about ordinary people when they stop pretending. That's where the reader begins to recognize themselves.

Because we have all desired something we "shouldn't." A person out of place. An "incorrect" body. A situation that threatens to shatter the orderly life we show on social media.

Then comes guilt. Not for what we feel, but for not knowing what to do with it.

Society taught us to idealize love as if it were a pure, elevated, almost spiritual force. But no one taught us what to do when desire takes another path. No one prepared us to live with that contradiction without becoming liars, cynics, or moral judges.

The problem isn't desiring. The problem is demanding that desire behave like a promise.

Desire stems from an uncomfortable truth: loving does not mean ceasing to desire. And desiring does not mean ceasing to love. Tragedy appears when we try to erase one of the two things to feel like better people.

That's where cages are born. Hypocrisy, proper marriages, and extinguished bodies are born, hidden fantasies that later become secrets are born.

Desire is not the enemy of love. It is its bodily reminder.

A reminder that we are flesh before discourse. That the body doesn't sign contracts and that not everything we feel fits into the life we build.

Desire has no morals. We invent morals to survive in groups.

Perhaps the only mature way to love is not to amputate that animal, nor to let it loose without responsibility, but to look it in the face, accept it as part of who we are, and decide—with clarity, not with fear—what we do with it.

Because desire can't be fully educated. But ignoring it always takes its toll.