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?
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.