With the time her knowledge of what love is changes. These days love gets more colors and shapes, it looks completely different and its value too has been changed. Signs and expressions of love have broadened and the typical teenage demonstrations don’t impress so much anymore. She’s mature now and men have to do much more to be able to sweep her out of her feet. Unfortunately her maturity made her stand firmer, be realistic and practical… therefore boring maybe…
Tonight she was looking back at her past and recalling different love-like periods and guys from those times. With this new broad image of love she thinks that maybe there is no such thing as REAL love and everyone she recalls has been loved by her. Maybe each one differently and without her realization at that time, but still loved. And when she re-thinks, maybe on contrary, some guys she thought she loved, were not really loved and the feeling was created in her image and she loved the image and the feeling itself, but not those guys.
When she leafs through not that many stories of her life, she is surprised by the fact that the very few, which were most impressive and which still have some trace in her soul are the stories where the standard, dry and uncreative phrases “I love you” and “I love you too” were never pronounced. After all words don’t matter that much…it’s what stands behind, under and within which matters. And when what’s behind, under and within is strong, obvious and deep, then there is no need for words and phrases pronounced by millions of true and untrue couples several times a day.
She opens yet another book to read. Reading has become an addiction these days. With her eyes running through lines, swallowing and feeling the words she tries to get yet other shapes of love, their expressions and values.
She reads, thinks things over and gets back to her memories. After putting everything together in her mind, mixing things up, adding imaginative details and exaggerating what has happened with her in real life, she writes her own lines and creates her own book. It will be her modified life where she’ll escape. The story of love with all its shapes and colors, her life with true and fiction rolled in one, what she was, who she became and who she’d like to be…
Meanwhile she sips her cappuccino, recalls the short stories with unpronounced “I love you” and “I love you too” and smiles to herself. After all she’s a lucky woman with all she has and doesn’t have…