At kindergarten, love was all about who had the most succulent mangoes in their backyard.
At class three, love was about who was the hero, who solved all the mysteries and who was the leader.
At class nine, love was about academics. The brainier, the better.
At class twelve, love was divided amongst the ones who could smile the best.
In undergraduate days, it was about the one who was the most idealistic in my mind.
During first job, love was about who wanted to be individualistic.
At post grad, it was about a mirage of all those past loves.
Now, for the first time in my life, I am not worried about the fact that I am single.
I love me.