I have never fallen in love, at least that's what I allow myself to believe. I haven't gone mad for anyone or done the crazy things that I should do if I were in love.
I've never had someone say they loved me. I've never been fancied by someone I fancied. I've thought, "He must like me" I've been happy for weeks knowing he likes me... I've fallen from the sky knowing how wrong I was.
I've thought he made me believe he loved me. I'd like to believe he was playing with me, or even playing me, But not even that.
How could I have loved anyone then, when there was no one to love? No one I should have fallen for.
But why then do they say that I must have fallen in love at some point of this life of mine? After not allowing myself to believe I had, I confronted myself.
Why do I see his face in the children who merely lift their eyebrows? Why do I always see that smile of his, even when we never met up again? Why do I feel pained and at the same time happy that he is happy, with someone else?
And then I come to the realization that I could have loved, a long time ago when he sat next to me. And maybe even I did love.
For he didn't need to do anything to receive this emotion. His being was all he needed for my inexperienced heart to turn towards him, and not be his... but definitely turn towards him.
And with his ignorance, or maybe not-so-ignorant self He scarred my heart with his indifference. Yet not a scar of hate or heartbreak-- but one of remembrance that won't leave.
So did I ever love?
I really don't know.
Something I wrote in high school about a boy who remains dear to me.