Most people who know me describe me as emotionless, incapable of love.
A few, however, will say I’m a hopeless romantic. The thought of both amuses me, since I do not see myself as either: I’m just a kid trying to find love.
I remember the first time we met. It was during the clinicals at UCC in my first year. You wore a skimpy skirt. It wasn’t trashy, no. It was quite elegant. It was a black skirt with a matching tank top. Anyone could tell you were a first year student. Your naivety was obvious.
I’m still not sure if it was the dress, or the kindred spirit I thought I’d found, but before I knew it my feet walked me closer to you. And with every instinct in my body screaming “Run!”, I asked you “Is this where first years are having their eye checkup?”
“Yes”, you answered. “Actually I would advice you stand behind me before the queue gets longer.”
“It’s like all we do in UCC is queue.”
Those words made you laugh. In all my 18 plus years, I had never made a lady I’d just met laugh.
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation, only your smile, and how the hours we spent getting our eyes checked felt like the shortest queue I would ever join on campus.
If I had done my dentals first, or even the blood tests, perhaps, our story would have been different. We might have become friends. We might never have met.