Amorino my lover,
I could never love another,
You and I were meant to be together,
Our love was supposed to last forever,
After you, there can be no other.
There is no love like your first love. You sleep, dream, and live in the warmth of such affection. All your waking hours are spent eager to return to your lover’s embrace and when you are together, nothing could be better. No price is too costly to pay and waxing poetic becomes the order of the day.
I was told not to expect to find love in Paris. On Rue Vavin, I did.
For 7 days, 1 entire week, I spurned the heat of his gaze. On occasions that he called out to me, I crossed the street refusing to be wooed. He wasn’t the most handsome or attractive item around and being in the City of Light, I had a full agenda; Places to visit and people to see. Falling in love was not included in this schedule. Yet, love has a way of filling the void of disappointment.
When I found myself in such a vulnerable position one evening, I conceded.
Maybe it was a cocktail of homesickness, exhaustion, and loneliness. I sat by the window with tears in my eyes. Looking out everyone seemed happy, giggling and smiling. I was drunk with sadness, on the verge of crying. Occasionally, I glanced at his figure that filled the street with its overpowering presence. Again, he beckoned to me with that silent, imploring gaze. If only I could summon the courage and strength to get out of my room.
In a daze, I got dressed.
I walked over on a route I knew well, but had refused to take. I was at the corner where Rue d’Assas flowed into Rue Vavin. It took me a whole minute to get there and I hesitated with the passing of each second. I knew I wasn’t prepared for a long-distance relationship that spanned two continents. Was I prepared for such a commitment? I don’t know what I was thinking. This was against my sense of better judgement.
At the intersection of the two streets, I crossed over.
The ambiance was not what I expected. Now that there were no windows or spaces to separate us, I felt oddly at ease. This visit was going to cost me. I was going beyond all moral principles imbued in me from childhood and learned in adulthood. There was no going back now. I extended my hand for an exchange of friendship, but received the most exciting melange of emotions that could ever run through a human. It was creamy, sweet, colorful, and unforgettable.
Who would have thought that ice-cream could taste so good? I didn’t.
This was no ordinary ice-cream, it was Amorino’s gelato. I savored the five different flavors neatly arranged petal-style around my cone. I had never spent so much before on an ice-cream cone, but it was worth it. The entire 3 Euros and 50 cents was indeed well spent. My classmates had talked non-stop about Amorino from the first day, we set out to explore the shops around our lodge.
In Paris, everything seems exciting to everyone, I thought.
How wrong I was. Amorino was more than exciting. It was love at first taste, pure and undiluted. My frugal nature had died and my adventurous spirit was very well alive. I experimented with all types of flavors- pistachio, macadamia nut, hazel nut, grapefruit, passion fruit- and the list goes on.
Trust me, I tried to find such love for a cheaper price, but failed.
Falling in love with Amorino was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. What is love without its sweetness and bitterness? Let’s focus on the sweetness first. Amorino was the gleam of hope I saw that assured me I was close to home, it was the shoulder I sobbed on when my ankles were rubbed bare from walking all around the city, and it was the consolation I sought when I seemed to get everything wrong. Amorino was always right. I was right. Long-distance relationships were not my thing.
Leaving Amorino was sadder than leaving Paris. I wept for Amorino. We were so close, but now so far away. I really wasn’t ready for such a committed relationship. Rumor has it that Amorino is in New York. I am close to New York, but I refuse to be heartbroken again. There is no love like your first love. You sleep and dream in the warmth of his affection.
Then, you wake up and write a poem to remind yourself of the moments that were, now gone.