Just a year ago, I never believed that true love could exist - not for me, anyway. It was an over-played fantasy in movies, a mourned-for entity in almost every song of every genre; it was a dream that didn't belong to me. But of course I wished for it; I hoped that it was only my age that prevented me from developing any more than shallow, week-long crushes [on] the unlucky boy of my short-lived dreams. I didn't think that I would ever find the capacity to care for another person as much as I did for myself, and the idea of it almost frightened me. The few relationships I [had] attempted ended in disappointment. I would "fall in love," only to look up and realize it had all been just an ugly, deceiving infatuation. Then, a year ago I met the one who would eventually show me love as I now know it.
I will spare you all the lovey-dovey details and cut to the chase. What I came to feel for him was beyond words. I couldn't explain it even if this paper depended on it. I just knew. It was difficult to understand myself at first; I kept trying to define and explain what I was feeling. I was overwhelmed with new sensations I had never felt before. It was frustrating because I could not explain why I felt this way. It wasn't simply his demeanor or his looks that left me so tongue-tied. I just loved him, and did so with everything I could offer. As of now, we do happen to be together, but that really plays no part in what the love I shared with him will mean to me in the long run. Through our love, I found within my cynic-self the beauty of optimism. As a hermit who generally shunned the world, this discovery made me look at myself and everything around me in a completely different light. I would make jokes and they'd actually be funny, not bitter. This vivacious hope I had instilled in me was, for a large part, thanks to him. I have known what is to love, and that - even if he doesn't - will remain a part of me forever.
May/June '03