Love is supposed to be blind.
I’m not sure about others but mine certainly is. My love is blind to the fact that she does not love me, it is blind to the fact that she often tries to ignore me, it is blind enough to not see that she would not ever be able to reciprocate the passion I feel for her.
But love also turns a person ‘poetic’ and ‘philosophical’. In my case I turned poetic (I have my reasons). It hurts to acknowledge that I am not a person she loves but I am grateful that though I was never loved by her, I was lucky enough to love her, to burn in the Flames of Desire for her.
The heart feels more satisfied to love than to be loved.
Cheer up people this is not a tale from the broken heart of a lover this is a story of a teenager and his first true love.
( Spoilers alert! It’s gonna be sad sometimes.)
It was just one sided, I guess.
