And then he comes along. After six months of refusals to meet him. Still he comes along. With all the nagging of getting medical tests done, and willingness to go shopping for soles for your stilettos. He chooses to be part of your life. Without you realising it, of course.  You think that life could not be different, but it becomes that. You fall in love. Again. And then you believe that love is possible, with a human who has no clue what goes in your mind, is willing to become the specimen for one of your messed up lab test psycho-analysis, pretty much listen to all your nonsense (and that too on a daily basis).

And life changes. For better or for worse. It does. You realise you have a lot of patience. A lot more than you ever did. He thinks you fell from the sky, and you wonder what happened to the bitchy version of you (when he is around). You lose yourself, the person you think you had become (after getting hurt, turning immune, and resilient, or so you think). The indifferent human, the weird soul without regret or huge expectations. Then you fall in love. You do. You are willing to believe in those four letters, or the abstract sense of it, the weird feeling and everything else that comes with it. You surprise yourself. You surprise him. And you shock everyone else around (that you manage on a daily basis too).

And things start all over. The whole cycle. And you live it. Without one regret.

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