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No Sweaty Palms and Still…

May 22, 2009

I am in love, over again. There comes a time in one’s life where one says ‘I am in love’, most of us do I suppose. But how do you know it’s love? Or are we confusing lust with love?

I knew when I was losing myself to someone else and this time it was serious – still is, more and more everyday. The man I fell in love with lured me with mere words and I could not stop my body from responding, though my brain was a bit slow to follow act. However sometimes losing is winning and I am glad I did. Nothing compares to the first flushes of love, nothing at all. In my case it was bewilderment followed by resistance and then acceptance.

My fate was sealed on a warm Sunday night. Compliments are like a balm to one’s ego but surprisingly I was rather shown appreciation – as if he knew that being complimented on my physical characteristics turns me off – and thatthrew me off. I am stupid right? What woman wouldn’t like to have the man of her life or any man at that, whispering sweet nothings about how her eyes twinkle or how that skirt complement her skin tone and so on? Not me for sure. Yes I am stupid. Or maybe you could blame it on certain attitudes I had come across as a child who had left a message indelibly printed across my brain that other people’s criticism was something I must learn to live with. No great expectations here.

Anyhow, I fell for him – hook, line and sinker. Not a day goes by I feel a tiny ache within myself that if fate had not allowed us the time to discover each other what would’ve become of us? Dwelling on negative thoughts won’t do any good – as he would say – so let’s pursue happiness instead.

There are no words to describe how much I love him. As for the question ‘How do I know it’s love?’ Simple – the way he hugs me, the way his eyes mist over when he confesses his love to me and the way he holds on to me when…erm…better leave it unsaid or rather unwritten…

However it’s not going to be a bed of roses all the time and I would not want it to be. A rose with no thorn loses its charm and beauty. Pain is part of happiness.

Caught up in throes of passion and love, I can finally admit that cynical, I’m not anymore. That thing called love has again stroke and I’m thrilled to be one of its ‘victims’.

It all comes down to this….

Always his…

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