a lesson not learned

The other day, as I was moving through the Indigo crowd, with all their diversity and at times visible stuck-up attitude, I thought of love.

Someone, whom I didn’t get to see, smelled of my ex-boyfriend’s cologne. For a moment -much like those cheesy, Hollywood-moments, images of “us” flashed in my head.

I remembered how my heart would vehemently beat in my chest, and my cheeks warmed up with passion, whenever I saw him. Even the thought of seeing him would produce the same effect.

And, like any other lover in a long-distance affair, the smell of Chanel’s Allure was the definition of love and longing to me. At least for a while.

And then of course, the moment passed and I was waiting in line for my Chai latte and desperately hoping for that warm window-couch that was occupied.

I’ll save you the details of how, when, why we broke up- allure and I. And I will also save you the number of other fragrances that became my temporal temples (Armani, YSL, etc.).

All of a sudden, I asked myself, have I kissed love goodbye?

Is it possible that my intense and agonizing experiment with amore, has made me impenetrable, even biologically incapable of love?

It’s become so difficult for me to recognize it. When it comes to my friends and their fairy tales or lack thereof, I am usually right-on and the go-to girl for advice. But when I’m faced with a tale of my own, as a Persian expression goes,“I put my tail on my back and run away.”

“You just haven’t met the…”

Yah. How many times do we hear that one.

love, is probably the most cliche topic for someone to write about. But it truly seems like whatever we do and how ever we distract ourselves from it, it keeps coming back.

I’ll update you when I meet the next allure.