Short-times... for now

I've always been a huge fan of love. May it be poems about it (which by the way I have in growing printed stacks), stories that make me go starry-eyed and hopeful, and thoughts that is similar to how I seek to eat rice at least once a day.

While my own love life's current state is next to nothing, the idea of it never fails to cheer me up when things aren't working out the way I want them. I have a very purist idea about love then - it should be the sole reason for commitment and nothing else. But that was then. Things changed when life happened.

Fast-forward to college, I met a guy I thought the world of. For me he is the epitome of cool-dom: witty, plays the guitar, quite the ladies' man (yes it's plural), not intimidatingly hot but has the casual sexy vibe, can hold my interest for more than 5 minutes (considering my short-attention span to any 'normal' conversation, that's an achievement), and listens to whatever I have to say and makes me tell more than what my usually guarded mode allows me. The whole idea of a him and an I together seemed so perfect at the time. I imagine long walks with him, poem sessions, and music sessions. I even got to the point in my imagination where I introduce him to my family. I thought we had something special going on between us.

With him, I try to act as if I don't see him differently for he always teased me about my hidden desire towards him when deep inside me I have all those weird fantasies of him and I getting together.

(...)