'Love has evaded me, slipping between my fingers and sneaking through shadows, but I refuse to give up. I like the idea of having to work for it – at least, I do most days. If I have to work for it, the wait will be worth it,' Keah_Maria writes.
The first boy who was my age whom I thought I loved would never return my romantic interests. The reason the word thought is necessary is because I didn’t really know much about him. He was cute and nice sometimes and I thought that was enough back then. Let’s call him Harry. I knew Harry for a while. We shared classes in intermediate school and hallways in high school. He was kind to me during our middle school years and distant but contradictory in high school.
As we entered our junior year, I fell out of whatever it was that we were or weren’t. I grew tired of the contradictions and vowed to find someone in college to love me in a way that he was never going to. I left those high school hallways behind, confident that someone in college would either love me for who I was or take one for the team until he learned how to love me, even if I had not learned to love me at that point. I haven’t thought of Harry in years, until this moment.
I had my first real kiss during my senior year of college, right before Christmas break, in a darkly lit bar. The guy who kissed me was drunk and so was I. He was balding and a townie but again, I was desperate and drunk. I wasn’t drunk enough not to be able to consent. However, if I could go back and stop myself from kissing him, I would, because when it was over, he told me that he had only done it as a favor to his friend, who was interested in one of mine.
was mine. I wrote poems and stories, hoping that if I wrote about it well enough it would come to me and I would no longer have to lie to convince readers that someone wanted me, so that they wouldn’t feel sorry for me. Readers were probably tipped off by the fact that the things I wrote, especially the poems, were so bad that any real writer or poet with experience in love would know that love isn’t all clichés from movies.
Love has evaded me, slipping between my fingers and sneaking through shadows, but I refuse to give up. I like the idea of having to work for it – at least, I do most days. If I have to work for it, the wait will be worth it. Sometimes I worry that love doesn’t like me, as though I am still a young girl in middle school desperate to be liked by the popular kids.
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