You’ve heard the old saying, it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?
Well I call bullshit!
Have you ever been in love with someone so much it’s
painful to look at them, at the same it’s so overwhelmingly superb you’re
unable to look away? It’s the perfect combination of ecstasy and agony.
I’d rather never have had that, than to feel the
perpetual ache left behind –the pain without the pleasure.
I remember the first time we met: those azure eyes; a
smile that lit the room on fire. When he looked at me, I felt like a giddy
schoolgirl. That wasn’t love though.
I remember weeks of flirting. Weeks of
electricity-filled glances, light brushes of hands, perfectly timed quips, and
those eyes. I remember those eyes burning a hole through my resolve. That
wasn’t love though.
And I remember the first time we kissed. I don’t
remember what we were talking about, or how we came close enough to one another
for a kiss to transpire. But I remember his hand on the back on my neck, his
fingers tenderly curling through my hair. I remember his lips, soft and
yielding. His tongue, gentle and caressing. I remember the burning that filled
me, my heart swelling to the point I thought it would burst from within me. I
remember the detail of every sensation, because that was the moment I fell in
love.
So yes, most days I wish I had never met him, never
loved him. If I never knew him, I would not have to live with the searing pain
he left behind when he died. 