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That year I realized there was much to learn and unlearn about love

I was 5 when I watched Cinderella

fall in love all because the shoe fit

The prince was on his knee as soon as

he saw that "there was something about her"

I learned love was about belongingness

It didn't matter if it was a person or a shoe.


I was 7 when I saw a prince ride on

his horse to save a pretty princess

who wore a dazzling gown who

Looked the best and when she saw the prince

She knew "he was the man of her dreams"

I learned love happens at first sight and

Love happens only when you look at the part.


I was 9, when once upon a time and

Fairytales didn't seem fascinating anymore

There was a realization that I didn't

Look like those princesses,

I was loud and didn't need the saving

And to be fair, no prince was to be seen around

I once again immersed myself in fiction to feel love.


At 10, I discovered when feelings

It couldn't be put into words that's how

I would know that I was in fact in love

But I'll give it a shot

Uhmm...

Love smelled wonderful,

Love looked so good

Love's back was glossy and irresistible

I couldn't keep my hands to myself

Love came in paperback and with a bookmark.


I was 11 when I fell in love with a boy

He looked just like they described him

He was tall, dark and handsome

His hair flew with the wind

Charming as hell, his eyes gleamed

Violens cued and time stopped

My first boy crush was Jeremy from Phineas and Ferb.


I was 12, when I learnt love was magical

But it came with a baggage called heartbreak and grief

I cried endlessly with a big bowl of ice-cream

When the love of my life died

Cedric Digory was killed in 4th part of the Harry Potter series and my heart shattered in 400 pieces.


At 16, love had different meanings

Different definitions

Love made me feel everything fiction described

Love looked just like a dream

But walked in like my worst nightmare

Love came in with new confusion

Could she be my love?

Afterall MY love was supposed to be a prince, not a princess


That year I realized there was much to learn and unlearn about love


I was 17 when I stepped out of the closet

As David Rose announced

that he loved all labels of wine

With tissues in hand because I

Would never have love like David and Patrick!


I was 18 when I stopped caring about love

Because I wasn't Jane Austen's heroine

I was her hero

Socially awkward, always annoyed

All I did was read Sally Rooney that year

I saw a spitting image of myself in her protagonist

They all isolated themselves and had mental illnesses

But I lacked love like them.

I was convinced my love was like that of Murakami's stories,

Always left open ended

Never completely stated.


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I cleaned myself I cleaned the house I cleaned my heart And my mind as well. I missed my lectures I missed meeting my friends I missed the calls from my home And didn't eat my chocolates as well. You

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