In my youth - my youth being eighteen years old I fell head over heels for a tall blonde. To this day I don't know if I loved her but I do know that I still think about her every other day – which is already one too many. The introvert and the exuberant athlete in the uniform of a boy with slack pants and short sleeved shirt that later became a skirt and pink bras showing through a sparkling white shirt because every tomboy wants to be called a beautiful girl at some point. She was beautiful, funny thing is I never thought her so until I got to know her.

My friend gave her my number and that afternoon we spoke for the first time. I remember I was charming, but this conversation wasn't in person so I had the confidence of a narcissus but when seeing each other we'd hideaway and awkwardly smile through crowded corridors and across rows and rows of desks. She found me funny, like most girls do – "He doesn't look that good but at least he's funny". I felt a great deal of affection for her but always questioned it because of the novelty – she was after all my first real girlfriend and it went without saying that we'd speak everyday – even if not in person. I would visit but not regularly as avoiding her overly friendly mother was just as important to me as being with her. Being the intellectual in the relationship I taught her many things, as simple as vocabulary and eventually even opening her mind – which all went to shit when we stopped seeing each other. But she taught me much more, spiritually I felt emotions I'd read about, I learnt how weak my mind was to the power of women or to the power of my heart/emotions/hormones/lust. She was what I needed – like all the clichés the pretty girl made the shy boy come out of his shell. It appealed to me because the idea of a high school romance seemed like a rite of passage I just could not pass up, I thought that in the future I could look back at it with fond nostalgic feeling. Physically she taught me how to kiss, first by doing it on the back of my hand "This is how I learnt, now you can feel what to do" we then moved on to actual kissing, my heart would race to the point that it actually hurt - "I love how nervous you get, this is the only time I really see you vulnerable" is what she would always say - The first time she kissed me I froze, she giggled as I blankly stared at her, and I left without saying anything, A naive realization occurred to me as I thought If this is how it feels I should have put way more effort into getting girls, maybe hit the gym or pretend to like boy bands later that night she asked me if I was okay and for my own good it would probably be a good idea if we cooled things on the kissing front. We did however do it again and each time my heart would reach near lighting speeds and after backing out several times we would make out for a while - which was the funniest thing on the planet for her, no malice on her part though she found it nice seeing the know-it-all intellectual with trembling hands and red faced trying to will himself into doing something every other fourteen year old was effortlessly doing.

After news broke that she was slightly involved with me we starting going out in public – making the beautiful gardens at the far end of the central business district our little nest for light kisses and meaningful conversations. Walking up to the entrance, rubbing against one another almost holding hands but both of us did not believe in hand holding so we pushed up close and stopped at the stall with the old Italian looking mistress selling peanuts for us to feed the squirrels, which had become a regular pastime at each of our visits. The first spot of grass beyond the entrance was a hot spot for hungry squirrels so she squat right there and went about feeding them while I stood looking around at the curious eyes, always conscious of all the eyes while she played in childlike bliss that now I truly envy and even try to adopt in my life. Eventually she found one and others swarmed around her hungry for some treats of which she wouldn't give until they came close enough for her to pet, I joined and sat at her side on the dry grass feeding squirrels that ran up and down my leg – for some reason they were attracted to me more than her, which infuriated her and amused me but not entirely as I was somewhat apprehensive towards the creatures but couldn't show it at the time, my fears coming to life when one bit me drawing blood and she giggled putting my fears at ease. Seeing the goose pimples on my arm I would look up to see the sun start to disappear over the mountains which quickly snapped me back to reality and I told her that if we wanted to catch the train we'd better start moving and she with a sad smile and heavy sigh got up said goodbye to Dolores (the queer little squirrel we'd found scampering and hanging upside down from a tree and she said – isn't that just the funniest thing you've ever seen, it looks like a Dolores doesn't it?) as we got to the gate laughing and knocking against each other walking drunkenly a homeless looking man wearing two torn jerseys and dirty red scarf yelled at me - kiss her brother and I replied I wish - as this was before she'd taught me the secrets to proper French kissing and she laughed at us after seeing the bewildered look on his face. We got to the ticket booth and I rummaged in my pocket and found myself short of train fare, she standing next to me in the busy station panicking and I thinking that I could leave now and make my own way home thereby enhancing my reputation for being a self sufficient man in her eyes – she walked away from me and ask a elderly man if he had any change to spare and he gave her just the right amount to get me a train ticket – something that would never have happened if we'd gone to ask together. We sat in the train, our legs resting on the opposite seats, squeezed tight against one another and I rested my head on her shoulders breathing in what I thought then to be perfume but turns out it was her natural scent – a combination of fresh and clean clothes and a sweet morning scent. Passersby looked at us and for the first time I was not conscious of the eyes but joined her in eternal bliss as I felt her warmth not only from her body but as if we silently and instinctively bore our open souls to one another – love seeping from every pore in our bodies I felt the tangible truth their lying next to her. I passed my stop so that I could get off at her station then make my way back home – her eyes gleaming at the thought that this holy day could last even another minute. She hugged me and kissed me goodnight for the first time and I stood there alone on the cold station waiting for the last train of the evening, I'd never taken a train that late for fear of mugging but her magical kisses made me forget about everything other the feel of her lips and I stood in my worn out old jersey not feeling the cold temperatures and when I got to my station I couldn't care to hope for a taxi that late and walked home , again something I had never done but this night was magical and I do could everything I'd never done before – giddily skipping home with a broad dumb smile plastered on my face telling her the next day that I took a taxi as she feared for my well being with both of us knowing that even if I were robbed that night we wouldn't change a single thing.

There were the other usual things like holding each other, the female scent, soft skin all these entrancing me into becoming a mindless puppet that would do just about anything for her – that's not entirely bad in itself, isn't losing yourself in this significant other what makes the so called love real?. It was a sweet, pure naive kind of love we had, never tainted by talks of the far future or pressure for taking it further. In a sense it was an educational experience on both our parts, a non-sexual relationship that would teach us everything we wanted to learn at the time and support us in anything we needed. We were laying the foundation for something that could last forever but at eighteen it's not the kind of relationship either of us would want. It ended gradually, there wasn't any break up or fight we simply lost touch. After all that you would think it impossible for simply to fade out of each other's lives but deep down we knew our relationship had run its course. If we were to fight for it - it would turn into something else, we would have ruined the entire thing simply because we couldn't let go when the time came. We spoke once after all that, just to confirm that we'd made the right decision. I'd like to think I loved her, it's of little significance though as I do not regret a single thing.

At the time I didn't realize how much of a turn my life would take. Many months later - having run out of time and options I went to college where I attended for five months before leaving - having realised my passion for writing. My sickly grandfather who was to be made comfortable stayed with us and it was around this time that I had sleeping issues. Some nights it would be nightmares other nights just a general tossing and turning, I felt an unpleasantness at bedtime and desperately needed something to immediately help me. I came across Morphine that was prescribe for my ailing grandfather and diluted it in tea. After the first time it became a regular habit until many months more he passed away and I ran out of my supply. Before then I found the sleeping issues to be more a physiological problem than a physical. My mind was not set on writing and I was in a state of near depression, the pressures of the future barrelling down on me and a sense of purposelessness all came together to turn me into a sad and lonely recluse. I saw no pleasure in the world and no end to my horrid existence. Over time it became worse – and the fear of hell, me being a good Christian boy which used to be the only thing keeping me from hurting myself- did not scare me anymore. So after two failed attempts – which I passed off as stomach bugs – I bought a bottle of brandy, my very last dose of Morphine, a zip lock bag of every pill I could get my hands on and I started brewing a cocktail that I hoped would be deadly. I was very efficient, making sure I had more than two of each pill – the one I would crush which would be diluted in the drink while the others would be swallowed all at once, if I could. After countless dry heaving I managed to get everything down and slowly drifted away as I felt that sweet release that Morphine instilled in the human body. I woke up sobbing the next morning, the very idea of waking up bringing tears to my eyes.

Amidst the melancholia that for a long period was my life I had a short stint in college. Driving my sister's car the short distance to the campus I kept an eye out for traffic cameras that would later catch my classmate driving 20 kilometres over the speed limit in our juvenile attempt to beat each other to a better parking spot. There I spent my day in that tin roofed class that felt like a sauna in summer and in winter the rain would deafeningly rattle on that roof causing the lecturers to take a break in lessons. I enjoyed the early morning classes but by mid afternoon I dreaded going to the more artistic ones. During breaks I would sit under the small palm tree next to paved steps that led to the smoking area although no one could technically call it that. Gershwin the dread locked beatnik would join me with his phone blasting out sounds of saxophones and drums, "This is music I'm telling you jazz is just fantastic" waving his arms and hair around as he listened intently oblivious to dubious onlookers, "There's no order here, you jump in with the sax I come after with trumpet and everyone just follows however they want" every instrument striking a beat in him, a true lover of music. He had the knowledge of foreign elder which may have been the case as he'd studied abroad coming back a learned bodhisattva in his own rite. The only time I didn't hear the crazy jazz was when he was missing for a day returning the next informing us of his inevitable bust for possession. After three months I started a habit of leaving at noon for no other reason than to leave that place, the idea given to me by Carl the loveable goof, always laughing in the high pitched screech that would consume him for the whole duration of any conservation. He'd come to be known as someone that enjoyed every aspect of life in his good humour which attracted everyone to him but drove others away as he could never control the infectious childlike laughter so many enjoyed. Delivering pizzas at night he found the monotonous rambling of the bald lecturer redundant as he read precisely from the books we'd received earlier that year, Carl waved goodbye and left at noon spreading the habit throughout the entire class. Since then I would leave after the pleasant classes as did Carl but never at the same – not wanting the other to know that our leaving greatly depended on whether the other would.

Thereafter to avoid incessant questions about me being home so early I would drive straight to the local library where I spent the rest of the day browsing through books that interested me at the time – which were World War 2 books of which there were plenty but that phase soon passed - books all around I could not bring myself to sit down and read one but instead walk endlessly scanning through them all. Right before the start of the fifth month the headmaster called me to have a chat about my future and my not paying any attention to my studies, I had not completed a class or assignment for that whole month which coincidently was around the time that I was working on one of my first short stories – the class with its lecturers and noise itself being a distraction for my new found passion I packed my bags and discontinued my stay at college. So waking up in the morning I would pack a sandwich with a bottle of water – later added a empty bottle because the empty parking lot didn't have any restrooms - and drove to the library where I had to wait four hours in the car because it only it opened at 10 o clock and I couldn't have anyone know I had left college for the library –at the far end of the broken concrete lot I stood under the aging oak that leaned over just right to protect me from nature's chill or heat, rain falling on the windscreen as the car fogged up to the point that I had to let some of it in when rolling down the windows and watching the yellows rays of sun that came after from the comfortable driver's seat where I would write and read - my true passions at the time, I was a secret writer after all.