Falling in Love

March 1, 2012
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It was young love, the kind of love that is tainted with the innocence of those who think it will go on forever. It was the kind of sweet love sweeps all thoughts of crushed hearts and floods of tears straight from your mind. I grew up with him; he introduced me to people such as Lord Voldemort, Frodo, Holden Caulfield, and Elizabeth Bennet. We spent our days in my backyard screeching and laughing and running in mock terror from Lord Sauron who was hot on our tail. As the hours swirled by and morphed into days and then into years, it seemed that falling in love was inevitable.

When we first met, we met not as friends but as mortal enemies. He would knock on my front door and I would march away, stubbornly refusing to see him. My ignorance of who he was, what he was, ignited in me a loathing that would ooze from my pores like hot magma from a volcano. I was stubborn, I am stubborn, more so then than I am now, but he was stubborn too. He cornered me at every turn, staring with eyes like burnt wood. Persistent, but also patient, he waited for me to grow, to learn, to understand. He stood in plain site, silent as a statue, but more alive than any statue ever could be. I, in turn, did nothing; I padlocked the doors of my mind and allowed nothing to enter and none of my foolish thoughts to leave.

Perhaps if I had remained in that state, stagnant, I would have never found love, but as it were the world had other plans. Slowly, the walls around my mind were eroded by the crashing waves on the sea of life. Understanding and knowledge, however, did not come as easily as the sea had broken down my walls: there were terrific, acrimonious fights that left me winded and raw. "I wasn't trying. Why couldn't I understand?" he would screech. I, in turn, would throw terrible tantrums. My face would turn the color of a bruised plum, tears would roll down my cheeks like a waterfall, and my tongue, wickedly sharp, would lash out at everyone and everything. Planting the seeds of understanding in my mind was in no way enjoyable; the knowledge chafed against my raw and inexperienced mind. In the springtime, the seeds grew roots and bloomed into magnificent gorgeous flowers. Finally, with the ability to understand I began to fall in love.

We'd spend hours together curled up in my bed, or lounging under a tree in the light of the golden sun. We'd laugh together, and the ringing peals of happiness would linger in the air long after the sun had set. I could hardly resist the sweet delicate scent of his breath in my hair, or the smooth texture of his papery skin. He was bitingly sarcastic some days and others, his words were like cool, soft caresses. I loved the way he would kiss the pads of my fingers leaving behind a tiny black stain; I loved the way he had the power to burn back the blackness of my ignorance. My love of words is unparalleled.

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