It’s true that I might have been a terrifying girlfriend, sometimes. Since my very first love story, I was staunchly confident, terribly assertive, and I genuinely thought I knew it all. It’s true that I found all these boys exceedingly romantic, with their flowers and their presents and their puppy-dog eyes.
Me—past the passion phase—which I liked short and intense, I saw no reason for all the fuss.
I was just cool like that. I didn’t expect much from them. Of course, my aloofness might have contributed to the intensity of their passion. Which in turn confirmed my theory that love was a bit overrated. And men. And romance.
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