Personal Narrative: A Short Story

I sit here, staring at my computer screen tonight, wondering why I have procrastinated on something so significant to my lifestyle. I have an article that needs to be done in eight hours and yet, here I am, sitting here, questioning as to why I have decided to take the column of Romance in this week’s paper. “God Karen, why did you have to be sick? This week of all week’s.” I’ve had my fair share of lust and I’ve had enough love, or what I thought could be love, to make it last for now.

Once upon a time, we have all been asked the question that always seems impossible to answer, “What does it mean to love someone?” and then we sit to ponder on what love really means. How do you know when it’s real? How do you know what it’s supposed to be

I was flashed back to what feels like months ago; the last time I had any ‘contact’ with another person. It was the first date I’ve been on since the breakup with my ex almost a year ago. He at least had the decency to take me to dinner first, but a few drinks in and we ended up back to my apartment faster than I intended. After that evening, I never heard from him or made the effort to talk to him again. It was a decently physical relationship, pure lust, nothing more and nothing less. I come back to reality all hot and bothered. What time is it? I look over at the clock again, immediately regretting it. The clock reads two o’clock in the morning. I had no idea that I was out for that long. The memory from my past was almost as real as if it had just happened. I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to lust without love. You can have both, but it’s all a matter of if you can handle both. However, I took a vow that the next time I let something like that night happen again, I would be in love or maybe serious about the

Then, I look longer at what I’ve written and eventually, my vision gets blurry staring at my computer screen for a long period of time, again. I don’t have any time to waste to let another writer’s block stop me from finishing this. I sign and finally, I decide to just give in, think about what love feels like, and think about what I felt like when I was in love. My eyes start to water and I lay my head down into my folded arms resting on the desk. Then, all over again, I’m being taken back. The memories start flooding in. Wave after wave, crashing into my mind. I can feel myself begin to shake, but I’m not waking up anytime soon. The first memory was short, but so very critical to the start of every experience I have involving love. The first night I met