Love does that to people, drives them to the edge and threatens to push them over.
But nevermind that. First love's conviction is what I was pondering upon. The whole with-you-by-my-side-I-can-conquer-hell-and-rule-beside-heaven assurance. It is a blessing, if you ask me, not to be plagued by cynicism and riding with the wave of optimism-"La Vie En Rose".
I was never gifted with such optimism in my first 'love' (if one can call it that). And I entered my first relationship with an impending sense of doom. This relationship wasn't even with the first guy I really, truly liked. I find myself cursing the Fates for not getting to be with him. That first failure scarred me with a lifetime of cynicism and a perennial inability to love. Never have I seen a rose framed photograph that says we're forever. Never a little red heart shaped paper between my books that would make my heart skip a beat. In fact, I seem to be extra careful not to leave behind memorabilia which would become sour memories if things go wrong. Never have I had the simple pleasure of holding hands and walking side by side, all the while feeling a light tingling in my spine. There seems to be a conscious effort towards detachment and non seriousness. I have no story to tell, and mostly because I wish it so. The last time I remember being woozy from kissing too much was months back. I had at best 40 days of an optimistic rosiness before the impending doom settled in.
I am a cynic.
I do not believe in love.
What we have can at best be describe as lust between curious friends.
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