Love is unquestionable.
Isn't it?

When you love someone, you shouldn't ever have to ask yourself, "do I really love them?"

With boyfriend numero une, I felt obliged to say 'I love you.' He had been the first to say it, and after a very short period of time of being together, too. I didn't reply the first time, and I guess it wounded him deeply. He was very upset. Then I just fell into the habit of saying it as a response; there was no true emotion behind it, I don't think. 'I love you' was the perfect cure for a fight, too. But I don't think I ever meant it when I said it. Or maybe I just thought I did. When all was said and done, it just faded away like it had never existed at all.

For sixteen months of love and hate, it had only taken half the amount to finish healing.

Boyfriend numero deux was also the first to say those overused words. It became a daily ritual, a reminder of nothing but lies. I dd like him. A lot. He was different. We understood eachother. He never wanted what all the other boys did, though he did complain a time or two. There wasn't much displays of affection after a while. He did something that blew it all to hell. And the last two months were just echoes of an 'I love you.' He lied. The one thing he promised would always remain a constant had lay forgotten.

Eight months gone to waste, all for the gain of a loss of a wonderful friendship.

Two weeks after numero deux and I split, along came boyfriend numero trois. He was a lie packaged in perfection. Everything happened so fast: the beginning, the middle and the end. I think I had wanted so badly to find that one, I tricked myself into thinking I loved him. Maybe I really did, but in the end it didn't matter. The pain sank in too deep, infecting my heart with a severe loath-- hate. All that was left was a wound, a section of my heart roped off for repair.

The first two had only left small tears that were easily sewn up. The third left a gash that split my heart in two; it had only taken two months to make my heart swell, but two weeks to make it burst with hate.

Fling X had left his own mark. He was wishy-washy. One minute he was as sweet as can be, always there. The next he pretended I didn't even exist. I was just a wind-up toy who would scuttle off, but always come back for more. He kept me around when he wanted that little something. That's all I was, and all I would ever be as I realized later. It still amazes me that he was anything significant.

A few weeks of being led on and that was done.

Last, but not least, comes 'the one.' Boyfriend numero quatre was an accident. If my grandmother hadn't died, I don't know if we would have ever met. A little bit of good comes with every bit of bad, right? He was my savior. We were inseperable. Like every normal couple, we bickered. Arguements weren't our thing, though. We never got into one. I think it was because halfway through, we always forgot what it was we were arguing about. We had practically moved in with eachother. I was always at his place, or him mine. Like a married couple. The sound of that always made me smile, despite the fact marriage wasn't an event about to come to me anytime soon. I was convinced he was 'the one.' Hell, I still am, but I have more doubts than before. Are we even together, anymore? All conversations lack any form of personification, emotion. You'd think we had never even known each other at all. Communication is rare and usually spread decently far apart, but I still hang on to a thread of hope. All for what, I ask myself, more pain? I don't know, anymore. Maybe after so long we'll both just lay forgotten to each other. Until then, he's still my boyfriend, isn't he? Even if he doesn't think so anymore? Even if he doesn't love me anymore?

Maybe.

But there's still a future to finish, and a history prepared to be written for him, isn't there?

A/N: As I've mentioned before, reflection is both good and bad for you. It makes you realize things you wouldn't have otherwise, but it also has it's drawbacks. Victory and overcoming problems; depression, and a sense of loss. There's a negative and positive aspect for everythign in life, isn't there? Everything brings both happiness and pain at one point or another.