There’s one moment a girl in love looks forward to every day.

The moment where the tightening and shaky anticipation is lifted, and the moment where you could really care less what your best friend was saying to you right now about how she fell down two flights of stairs and was amazed she came away unscathed. The moment where said best friend just smiles and begins recounting her tale to someone else in her immediate vicinity, she knows you’re not in your usual mindset. And, that one moment where she’ll let it slide without hitting you in the face with a brick, like any other regular moment.

But, this is by no means or definitions a regular moment.

Sure, it happens with regular frequency, and with all the regular side-effects. But this is not, I repeat, NOT! a regular moment.

You can hardly stay in your seat when you realize that the clock is about to strike upon the exact time when the greatest, and simplest, of phenomenon’s is about to occur. It’s predictable, like the exploding burst of the Old Faithful, but it never ceases to stop your heart and pick up your breathing double-time. Just like Old Faithful, but much more exciting and with a lesser concentration of old people.

There’s nothing in the world that beats: That. Exact. Moment. It’s like the moment when you first realize that, yes, that is the new trailer for the newest Harry Potter movie, and double-yes, that is a shirtless Daniel Radcliffe. Yeah, just like that, except that it feels more like: Yes, that is the trailer for the newest Harry Potter on your portable flat screen, and double-yes, that is a shirtless Daniel Radcliffe climbing out of the pool little more than two feet from you.

But, when you’re in that moment, it might even be better than any of your teenage-girl-overactive-mind theories or fantasies.

It’s hard to believe, harder to imagine, and the hardest to come across.

There’s only one possible circumstance that can pop that hypothetical, golden, little bubble just like the real, shimmering thing is popped by greedy two-year olds chasing it ‘round and ‘round in a sunlit yard.

When the perfect boy that belongs to, and used to be owned by, your perfect moment walks right in…

… trailing some other girl behind him by the hand.

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Sometimes, at two or three in the morning, after she had gorged herself on chocolate and gummy fish while watching unbearably sappy chick flicks she saved in reserve for situations just like this one, she thought back to those days when she could bet her whole Prince CD collection on the fact that he loved her.

Really loved her.

Not the type of love that cheesy rock ballads are wrote about, but the kind of love that can only be expressed through the songs of the Backstreet Boys, it was just that deep, or maybe those just appealed more to the nine year old in her.

He saw the shape of her heart, he wanted it that way, and he never got the call.

He had been her safety net. She fell on him just because she could, because she knew that he would always be there to catch her. It was a stupid thing, really. A thing she swore to herself she’d never do, fall on him just because he was there. It was something someone slightly less independent, less headstrong then herself, would do. She wouldn’t ever, ever, do something like that.

Only she did. Multiple times.

She fell on him so many times; it was like an instinct to her.

Had a bad day? Fall on him.

Fighting with her best friend? Fall on him.

Run out of those unbelievably mind-blowing slightly-gooey wheat donuts they only serve at your school breakfast? Fall on him. Steal his.

Over and over and over she fell.

Until one day, she fell…

And hit the floor.

Metaphorically, of course.