Maturing.

It was incited with an unpronounceable curiosity I had for oddities in her mannerisms. Before I even knew her, I wondered what she would say if I told her that I fell in love with her? I thought she'd more likely tell me to Fuck Off, than she say, "I love you, too."

She was exotic, she was whimsical with vitality, she was deranged with depression and apprehension. Oh parfait, how perfect! A Me, in female anatomy!

A stranger to admiration and awe with the dissonance of her heart--I fell painfully for romance. She possessed a strictly dedicating pragmatic existence. Like convincing a vegan that meat is good, I fed her my complete self, not caring what it took to make her feel loved; I gave her my skin and bones, unraveled myself to vulnerability and subjugating myself to complete disarmament, I gave her the aphrodisiac of passion and devotion.

Her online publications instigated my initial attraction--she became my impediment for sitting still, I wanted to know more; I read her and caroused through her photos like I were a modern-day Columbus, ready to stake my flag in her. I marveled as if I read into the life of a beautiful goddess. The pixels which drew her face forced my smile and I ached as if she'd secretly intended for it. Sapere aude? Fuck it, I went for it; at least, she's hot. And that was all that would have come from myself if that was it. But then she said, hello--back to me. What a nice surprise.

I gave into all resisting thoughts and thought of something to say. As she freed me from the humdrum of my chair and gave me the opportunity to be brilliant; I waited with childlike-wonder for a responce, fascinated by her oddities to enlighten my own idiosyncrasies. She made me feel so alive with everything she'd say. Unexpected, uninhibited, uncandid debauchery. She was insane, she was a playful raven.

Everything was perfect, I met her the next day of speaking to her on the internet. We clicked, there was no tension, no apprehension, no separation from our bodies spiritually. Our energies were different colours, but we fused with perfect equanimity. As a scientist, I was waiting for us to explode into a dust of petty mote, but I was too hardheaded in letting that happen to such a beautiful and intelligent creature. 

She could fuck up, she would fuck up, and I'd forgive her. I would telll her, 'Well, that's the last time." But it's as if I were her mother, or father, I would have forgiven her an infinite amount of times. That's true love. A stupid love, but for me, an ideal love. Wouldn't it be nice if someone could love you forever, no matter how many times you fucked up?

It was love for the idea of romance and for the idea of answers and the unfortunate circumstances of our lies that we excised our connection from one another. I'll always remember how she plucked my heartstrings from obscurity everytime she smiled and called passerbyers 'cunt' but always said it so respectfully. With, or without her. I am a better person because of this person I met. Someone I was able to love with a greater love than love.