I'm being serious here. No really.
2002-11-19 at 2:33 p.m.

 

Femmeproject is so good. Take a look.

They wrote about love. I'm going to steal their idea. Sorry peeps.

There's so many types of love.

Three different men have told me they loved me.

'I love you.' Three different times and each time it meant something different.

The first time I was 16. He was 20. He was my first boyfriend. I loved him for a year before we were together. In that all consuming, selfish, tidal and horny way teenagers love. I thought he was better than everyone. Especially me. And then he kissed me. Argh. I don't even remember that properly anymore. I thought that was something I had pressed and dried and kept in the pages of my failing memory. It seems not. I remember when he told me he loved me though. I remember the feeling. In my teenage bedroom. Sitting on my bed, talking about music and life. I was straddling his lap, sitting facing him and he took my head in his hands and said 'I love you'. Even now I remember the feeling. I shook, from my toes up to my head, I physically shook. There was a lump in my throat and I couldn't look at him. Teenage love reciprocated. It felt like fear more than anything else.

The second time I was older. I'd worked for a while. Been drunk a lot. Pushed people away for a few years. I'd had a few meaningless flings and several drunken.. well, you know. He was older than me. It's a thing I do. He was my friend. We were drunk. I loved him but I wouldn't admit it, because he was a bastard. A funny, intelligent, hugely attractive bastard. He said 'I love you'. It was pretty matter of fact. We both knew how we felt. And we both knew that it was a complete non-starter. Sometimes we'd get drunk and snog. Once I got as far as his bedroom. Once he asked me to spend Christmas with him. Once I was jealous of every woman he spoke to. Once I thought there'd be a fairytale ending. Once I was a damned fool.

The third time is now. Mr Me told me in a restaurant. We were both drunk. It was a purely natural and right thing. Sometimes I'm scared of the responsibility it brings for us both. Sometimes it makes me feel warm. It's a funny thing grown up love. Sometimes it feels safer than teenage love, sometimes so much more dangerous. Sometimes it seems staid, sometimes it's the most dramatic thing in the world. Sometimes I feel at home in it and sometimes I feel outside of it, like it has a life of it's own. This is the one I find most difficult to explain. It remains however, the only one that is any good for me.

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Don't worry people. Flippancy will return in the next installment.