This is my first love-at-first-sight relationship. I almost used the word romance, rather than relationship. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like a relationship. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like a romance either. Sometimes, most of the time, I’m not sure what it feels like.
Love wasn’t something I was looking for when I met him. My heart was already in so many pieces I didn’t think it was possible for me to love anyone ever again. I actually thought I was safe, immune, protected. Lonely, yes, but there was no way I was ever going down that road again. That longest road to nowhere.
I’ve loved people before. But I’ve always fallen or been pushed. Love was something that grew, like a flower or a weed. It got bigger and stronger over time. Or it withered and died. There was always a reason. There was something I knew or sensed. There was direction, a light at the end of the tunnel. Or at least some sort of carrot, dangling there in front of me.
Not this time.
I didn’t even know his name. I didn’t know who he was, where he had come from, or where he would be going. I didn’t know if he liked country or rock. If he was married or single. If he was allergic to dogs or chatted with children on the internet.
I knew nothing.
But a small splintered shard of my heart knew. Some tiny little piece of broken love overcame the pain and began gathering other pieces together.
And before I knew it, there I was. Back on that longest road to nowhere.
Love wasn’t something I was looking for when I met him. My heart was already in so many pieces I didn’t think it was possible for me to love anyone ever again. I actually thought I was safe, immune, protected. Lonely, yes, but there was no way I was ever going down that road again. That longest road to nowhere.
I’ve loved people before. But I’ve always fallen or been pushed. Love was something that grew, like a flower or a weed. It got bigger and stronger over time. Or it withered and died. There was always a reason. There was something I knew or sensed. There was direction, a light at the end of the tunnel. Or at least some sort of carrot, dangling there in front of me.
Not this time.
I didn’t even know his name. I didn’t know who he was, where he had come from, or where he would be going. I didn’t know if he liked country or rock. If he was married or single. If he was allergic to dogs or chatted with children on the internet.
I knew nothing.
But a small splintered shard of my heart knew. Some tiny little piece of broken love overcame the pain and began gathering other pieces together.
And before I knew it, there I was. Back on that longest road to nowhere.
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