I post this hesitantly...

I once ranted against love and ridiculed what fools it made of girls. I saw only the irrational pursuit of approval from the opposite sex and considered myself above such nonsense. I alone possessed impartiality, I alone saw through the games, I alone would be content alone forever. So I thought, and so I said to all who would listen, but those who listened were few. So I lived without loving, and told myself I was content, denying that I even had a heart, crushing it under the weight of the loneliness to which I had proudly condemned myself. I lay in the dark and watched the silent drama of shadows cast through the windowpane accompanied by the ticking of the clock. In the silence shining between each tick, my heart began to make itself known, growing heavy, wearied by its burden. A single selfish tear escaped under cover of darkness. And so I slept for years, suffocated by this exile I chose. Small wonder I felt unloved-I had made myself so unlovely that it took 18 years for an intrepid soul with a great living beast of a heart to catch a slight, living glimmer beneath the ice, made thin by the summer sun after a long winter alone. Slowly, he ventured close enough to melt the ice and set me free of myself. I love him. I am so deep in love that's all I can think. I wake up and I love him, climb out of bed and I love him, get dressed and I love him, eat breakfast, walk to class, sit down and I love him. My notebook is peppered with it- "Today is the ninth of February and I am in love", "Today is the tenth of February and I am in love". I even looked down and blushed to find that I had scrawled an unfamiliar signature in the margin- not my name, but his. Love has made such a beautiful fool of me, and I would have it no other way.