Great people do things before they’re ready. They do things before they know they can do it. And by doing it, they’re proven right. Because, I think there’s something inside of you—and inside of all of us—when we see something and we think, “I think I can do it, I think I can do it. But I’m afraid to.” Bridging that gap, doing what you’re afraid of, getting out of your comfort zone, taking risks like that—THAT is what life is. And I think you might be really good. You might find out something about yourself that’s special. And if you’re not good, who cares? You tried something. Now you know something about yourself. Now you know. A mystery is solved. So, I think you should just give it a try. Just inch yourself out of that back line. Step into life. Courage. Risks. Yes. Go. Now.
Many a times the spark of a romance follows the same stylistic pattern. Within the context of my limited experience, here’s my synopsis. First off, snap judgement on appearance (Tall? Check. Cute? Check. Small eyes? Check.) Then we move onto harmless flirtations to test the personality, humour and likings. Back and forth, the tennis ball bounces between the two courts. Gradually, the mysterious darkness lurking in her eyes demands him to follow suit.
You know what follows, candle-lit dinner on hazy evenings, endowments of flowers, macaroons, love songs and etc. In most cases, I do not observe significant deviations from the ancient formula for most conquests of love. So what’s so special about the chemistry of love that causes each experience to differentiate from one another, rendering to the conclusion that Fitzgerald has conveniently summated as “There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice?”.
I am eternally grateful for all incidence of love that has come to me. But why? My dear. Why never the same love twice? Or am I too modern to be raising concerns out of a quantitative comparison?