I never understood why anyone would have sex on the floor. Until I was with you and I realized: you don't realize you're on the floor.
She has been hanging on to the hope of him for so long that she doesn't realize there isn't anything left to hope for.
Breathing is hard. When you cry so much, it makes you realize that breathing is hard.
I just needed to realize that style was like personality - it didn't always have to be consistent; it just had to be something you lived with.
If there wasn't a word for it, would we realize our masochism as much?