Alright; it’s going to get a little personal up in here. So obviously, I will not be using names, but if I’m going to be speaking on the subject of l’amour, I suppose the easiest way to see my points of view are through understanding where I’ve come from, and how my ideals have been built on the subject.
I believe love is constant, and never truly has an ending, so obviously, this will be in parts as my own never-ending story.
My earliest ideas of love stemmed long before I’d like to admit. My first love, believe it or not, started in first grade (bear with me, I know how it sounds). As a child, I loved my fairy tales and Disney movies. My idea of love was illogical, unrealistic; utopian. I was painfully shy, and horribly awkward (that never changed, even to this day). I had developed a bad case of puppy love for a boy one grade above myself. As each year passed, we were friends, and I said and did nothing to show I cared for him beyond what he saw. With each passing year, that puppy love grew to much more. However, the time came where he had moved on to junior high. As shy as I was, I had not worked up the courage to ask to keep in touch. I said nothing and returned home upon my last day of school with a heavy heart and a sensation I had never known.
Upon thought, I became resolved to the decision that I would wait. It was only a year; I would see him again, and when I did, I swore I would be braver than I ever was. We would pick up where we left off and I honestly believed it was ‘meant to be.’ Yes, it’s very cliche, I know; but I had a completely untarnished view and a belief in the prospect of true love the way it was portrayed in a child’s fantasy. To my dismay, halfway through my final year of elementary, my parents approached me with the news that we were moving away. I was devastated to be leaving my friends, but just as dismayed of the idea that I wouldn’t see him in junior high.
We moved shortly after. Yet even so, I promised him silently that we would meet again. Not one single day went by where he didn’t cross my mind, and I strayed from any others who showed interest until the social digital age started to really gain traction about six years later. I discovered Facebook (cue dramatic music). Having found my friends from elementary school, I came across his page and sat in front of my screen with my fingers hovering above the keys, unsure of what to say. Nine years of devoted resolve and undeniable faith in a love never realized, four of those years with no contact whatsoever; that was a long time for such young love. There he was, just within my reach, and I didn’t know where to begin.
So finally, I opted for a simple opening. “Hello. We went to elementary school together. How’ve you been.” Etcetera, etcetera. I could feel my heart beating harder than ever before as I waited for what seemed like forever for his response. When the reply came, the world shook.
He didn’t have any memory of me whatsoever.
Not my name, nor the memories I’d thought we had made.
The conversation died shortly after and that was the last time we ever spoke.
Nine years I’d held on with nothing but my faith in love to keep it alive, and I’d found him once more only to discover it was all in my head.
I was devastated. My views on love began to change into less of a lady-in-waiting’s dream, and more of a Frankenstein’s monster. Days later, I was to take on my first day of high school, and I no longer knew what to believe.
I suppose you could call that Chapter One, but this story does continue. Much has happened since that sad day, but that is a story for next time.