One thing I learned from all those sappy television dramas was that love at first sight was as cliched a concept as they portrayed it. It couldn’t exist, I told myself.
Yet it happened to me.
The minute she walked in I knew I found myself so inevitably drawn in by her. There was just something so attractive about her. Maybe it was the way she smiled or those big round eyes. It didn’t help very much that the guy on my right nudged me telling me she was ‘just your type’.
Stupidly, I was very much like a little child at the sandpit meeting someone for the first time. This part of me just wanted to know her so much more. It pleased me somehow knowing what I was doing was helping her, or bringing a smile to her face, albeit momentary. It didn’t help very much now that I was caught up so deep into these little things, that I was blinded to everything else.
Perhaps I didn’t notice how every conversation ended with that serial killer “Ok thanks! :)” Much to the annoyance of those around me, maybe I was harping on how she finally sent me an emoji.
Perhaps I didn’t notice how every little gift or surprise was just grudgingly accepted, to be later chucked in the unknown depths of her closet.
To accept the absence of reciprocation is a painful thing to do. The strange thing about love is how it’s all a guessing game. The mystery adds meaning and joy to the chase. On one hand, she could worth the chase, and on the other, I could be ramming myself repeatedly into a wall.
Sadistically enough, love makes the former a painful and dreadfully long chase, and love makes the you enjoy sending yourself into a coma.
Love at first sight is leaving me breathless, high and dry and simply at a loss.