Young Love

A couple of weeks ago while waiting for a tram I shared the platform with a young couple I would guess were in their early 20s, if not less.

The girl had that school girl look about her - naturally pretty with long brown hair casually pulled back into a ponytail. And the boy, youthful in his looks also, had light brown locks shaping a fresh face.

They would steal glances at each other, smile, giddy in their mutual admiration. Their behaviour confirmed to me that they were a young couple in love or at the least - smitten.

Without meaning to sound trite, I too remember being young. But I never had what they had –hopeful, young love. Instead I dipped in and out of unrequited love, forming intense crushes on hot (bad) men, yearning for their affections – sometimes returned albeit briefly, more often not. It was rejection after rejection but like a junkie I was hooked on the one time fix, accepting the inevitable crash.

Fortunately there were also men eager to show me love but these 'nice guys' never had a chance. I was too busy chasing the ones with no intention of making me their ‘one’.

Fast forward to today - 37 years old - I shared the tram trip with the couple, drinking in the aura of their youth. They were each carrying a large garment bag and during the tram ride’s slow amble, I speculated on what clothing was within.  Too young for wedding dress, perhaps a little old for Year 12 formal, could it be a University Ball? And I came back to the idea of wedding dress. After all, the tides have turned and young people are marrying again.

We dismounted at the same stop and off they cantered down the busy street, holding the bags close to their chests with one arm while reaching to hold hands with the other.

It was a beautiful and innocent moment to witness.

Almost double their age, I felt a pang of envy considering my own (lost) youth. I wondered whether they’d make it as a couple; keep their love alive on the long road ahead.

I think this missing out on young love plays its own part in why I have been open to dating younger men. That and not wanting to quite admit that at 37, it would be perfectly acceptable for me to date a 50 year old.

And thus, along this theme - I recently fell hook, line and sinker for a handsome, wilful, adventurous, 29 year old. At first, I reckoned it frivolous to entertain a future with this young man. But as time wore on and the courtship remained intact, the age difference began to blur.

It just became about me and him.

But undeniably, tick tock, age did matter. If I have any chance of children – at 37 (turning 38 at the end of this month) the likelihood is in rapid decline. He has since turned 30 but is focussed on getting a Masters and building his industrial design career, not setting up family and house with me (I haven't yet mentioned we live in different countries).

It’s this layer of (marriage and baby) pressure that forced me to call time on our ‘time’.

For the couple I saw that day, I hope they are saved such hardships and complexities in love. That in finding each other, their young love is long-lasting.