Being Young

This Elusive Thing Called Love


I want to pin love down and study its nature.

I will lay it on an operation table and tear it apart, study it in all its glorious details. Always so elusive to me, I will hunt it down one day and collar it, slam it on the table and pore all over it. I will subject it to merciless scrutiny.


I descry someone, I catch them smiling. I am instantly drawn towards them and my heart start fluttering slightly. Our eyes meet and I look away quickly. I try to subdue the gleeful fluttering inside and simultaneously revel in the precious feeling. I venture another look, carefully avoiding the eyes of the bystanders. I see the face in profile. I am satisfied. I start hoping. I step out of the room, tenderly holding the impression in my heart. I step out of the building. My attention is caught elsewhere, the person is forgot, I wilfully think about them again. I realise I’m not drawn to them anymore. I smile to myself.


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