I wasn’t the girl who planned on love. I had seen my fair share of messy break ups, and I knew all too well just how quickly the magic of love could end. I watched time and time again as my more outgoing friends would catch a guy on Monday, fall madly in love on Tuesday, and by Friday call the guy every name in the book, and swear up and down that they hated him! No, thank you. I gladly passed on the few opportunities that presented themselves to me as a young teen. Am I really suppose to fall in love with one of the “special” guys that populated my grungy high school. Once again, no thank you! These were the same guys who pulled my pigtails and pushed me in the mud when we were in grade school. So instead of wallowing in my singleness, like the rest of my oh-so heartbroken friends, I decided to let fate take its coarse. I was only
fifteen, no need to rush.
I’m not sure falling head over heels in love at the age of fifteen would be what what my mom calls “not rushing.” However, love is not an easy thing to describe and now that I think about it I am not sure there is an adequate definition of love either. Love seems to be a religion of some sort, full of different beliefs and views. There is no set instructions on how to find love and what to do with it once it has found you. Whatever love is I could not stop it from happening to me, despite the poor reputation young love now receives.
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