It's not what I expected. I just realized this after all of these years. I'm not complaining, mind you. But it's not what I thought it would be, once upon a time.

I thought that the first ever would be the last. I thought that those feelings of immolation and annihilation would endure forever. I thought that it would be perfect. I thought that every day would sustain a level of intimacy and exquisite agony. I thought that it would consume me, and that I didn't matter as an individual in the equation.

Then I grew up. I had at least one that fit the bill. And then I saw the side effects. And I saw myself disintegrating into something lesser than myself. I knew the frustration of always being wrong. I knew the frustration of giving more than should justifiably be asked. And I grew up.

Part of me still yearns for that feeling though. Even though I know that it is very, very wrong. I want to be consumed. I want to be overwhelmed.

And then I remember. I remember and I forget. And then it is all different. And it is just fine.