Feeling fifteen

As quickly as it began, it ended. My two week love affair with love* came to a crashing, screeching halt today in the form of a few phone calls, a trip to the zoo and some embarrassing admissions.

At the end of day, after feeling one inch small and then bullet proof and ten feet tall, by 8:42 PM I was also left feeling like a fraud. I was asking myself questions like: What became of my love? What happened to my fix? What was it worth anyhow? I reached a conclusion. It’s worth a lot.

This brief rendezvous with cupid and his quiver was not meant for marriage nor was it a mistake. It was a reminder. Instead of condemning myself and judging myself a fool, I was reminded that even at my age, I can still feel like I’m fifteen. Those fleeting, passing, out of control feelings, while not love (I believe love is an action), are a great reminder of my youth, a zest for life and the exhilaration of infatuation.

I’m often so caught up with reaching my destination (whatever it is), I overlook the joy of the journey. This time, I didn’t. I was there to witness and observe my feelings as they unfolded and held me and my attention captive. I was spellbound and I spelled out the experience. I put it on paper in a way that I’m proud of. I don’t like all of my pieces, but I liked my last one. It was a pleasure to write when usually my pieces are a pain.

Also, perhaps the importance of this tryst wasn’t in the object of my affection as much as it was living in the moment and embracing the experience. Those moments were ten thousand unrelated yet related moments drawn out over the course of weeks and I agonized and simultaneously enjoyed each one and they all reminded me of what it was like to be high school. As it turns out, I still have the capacity to fall head over heels, to let go of reason and to ride the wave of insanity called “love”.  In short and better yet, I still have the capacity to feel fifteen.


* see Her being blue and Killer is what I call you for reference


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