I think it's very odd. There are people like me who fall in love quite often, and there are those who don't at all. And there are those who fall once and never fall again.

It all lies in our differing conceptions of love.

I envision love to be a crazy, heady thing that consists of midnight visits, secret rendezvous, glorious romantic expressions and an immortal bond that will bind us together. If it must end it must end - with a bang, a melodramatic ending, a tear-jerking parting that can only part of what Milan Kundera calls "Great Love". And indeed, this love can be extended to anyone, its passion stems from a love for this love itself. Retracting it is painful - but it is a wound that will heal without a scar.

Those who don't fall in love see love as a fated ideal. It is something that will come to you, and in all fatalism, it is best to wait for it to come then to force it against circumstance. In the meantime they will play. They believe love will happen, and so they wait, and play to fill up time. I do not think I can do that. Patience has never been one of my virtues. I cannot annul vaccancy when I am aware of it.

The last, I believe, have been burned by true love. True love is not a raging bonfire like Great Love. No, it is not wild and untamed as I envision it to be, because true love contains a more quiet sort of passion. It does not seek attention, it does not seek to proclaim to the world, to make a statement and add to image. No, true love is love for the individual, growing to love her faults, as much as that may sound impossible, and learning to encompass her entire character into one feeling. To some extent we must look for it, but truly, such things are fated. If one's lot is poor true love will evade him, and then it will never come true again. It is something I cannot profess to understand nor have experienced, I can only make these grasps in the dark from what I speculate.

So Immature Tim. So immature.