Indulging in my hopeless romantic side tonight.
Putting aside by rational inclinations; to hell with my realism and obsessive reminders of probabilities. Maybe my love is not going to last, maybe we’re not “soulmates” bound together by some invisible red thread connecting our souls. But I hope we are.
I won’t say I don’t believe because a tiny part of me does; has fallen in love with the idea of destiny and soulmates. Another part of me, a much larger one, prays (as sincerely as an Agnostic can pray) that you are mine. To dwell on flimsy ideas and theories too long would only destroy my rational mind, leading me right into unrealistic aspirations. I’m happy and complete with you right here, right now. In all our young, unabashed glory.
Can a person’s first love ever really, truly be their last? I want to believe we are each others first. Because to me that’s so pure and romantic. Like how people in love see fresh, unsoiled snow as something other than the hypothermia inducing thing it really is.
You’re not my first kiss nor are you the first person I’ve held hands with. You’re not my first partner and you’re definitely not my first kiss. But I believe you are my first love. Because I know you, as much as you know me. I know the good and the bad, the terrible and the great and I still love you so much, regardless of all that.
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