"If you love the girl, light up a torch, blaze a trail at her front porch. Kiss her 'till your lips are scorched, till the rain falls down on you."
~Ellis Paul

There was a time when relationship fortune was held in the hands of a folded piece of paper that oscillated within the innocent grasp of a pre-pubescent girl. The origami-inspired "fortune teller" was used to predict just about anything from the number of children we'd have, to the choice between formulating a crush upon Tommy vs. Nathan.

While girls gathered in the bathroom to test out bubble gum pink lipstick and sky blue eye goo, the boys caroused around a game of kickball, their only means of hiding from the enigma that their newly blooming gal pals were becoming.

In a time of candy necklaces and ring pop glitter, pompadour bangs Aqua Net secured, and appendages attired in pink leg warmers (despite the 70-degree temperature), there lived a girl named Sami. In my 12-year-old, pre-pubescent innocence, I chose to hang upside down on a 6-foot-high jungle gym so that I might gain the attention of little Jimmy Brady. So what if the height was great and the fall long and cushioned with bark. At the time, I would have done anything to vie for the attention of the boy who had two dimples the size of craters burned into the core of his apple-blossomed cheeks. In my adolescent fervor, I'd wear his favorite color, succumb to participation in dodge ball, and pretend to understand little league. I was insatiable in the devices I'd undertake in order to woo. Flower-peppered notes strewn with anonymous utterings of my affections were sent through Cindy, who slipped them under the table in a footballesque pass to Peter, who would then, in a scarlet-hued blush, slip them to Apple Blossom Cheeks…er, Jimmy.

Funny how boys could prove to be the impetus that drove us girls to move mountains, or at the least, risk embarrassment in order to gain attention. The puppy love that flows through the veins during our "wonder years", finds us throwing any and all caution to the wind in order to show the person we've set our eyes upon, just how nifty we find them.

Driving down a long stretch of road in the bleak dark of night invariably lends itself to uninterrupted reflection time. Looking back upon Jimmy, or any boy who sent my heart aflutter, I realized that something critical in relationship sustenance is lost in our transition to adulthood. Our hearts take on a cautioned, weathered tone, one that bears preconceived notions and comes riddled with voices of reason that find us fearing vulnerability if we should let go and give way to falling head over heels.

I hear the term often, but still have to wonder if there is such a thing as falling head over heels; of reverting to that which in a non-love induced state may seem inane or impractical? If asked, could you even describe just what it would mean to fall in such a manner?

To fall head over heels is liken to standing bare foot, shirtless, without an umbrella, in the frigid rain. It's senseless in and of itself, but nothing in the world seems more sensible at that moment in time. To fall head over heals is to love with passion, obsession, and to feel without a doubt that you could never live without the person who at that moment holds your heart. Silly? Perhaps! We all know that we could of course live without them, but the whole point here lies in the fact that there is no rhyme or reason to falling head over heals. There is no rationale in letting men or women, rather than boys or girls, be the impetus that inspires illogical bouts of jungle gym hanging or hushed love note passing.

So with all else that we leave behind in our transition to adulthood, there is also the inability to truly let oneself become hopelessly smitten. To let ourselves revert back to the childhood antics that left us writing cute little notes and sending gooey-eyed glances, all the while, not letting the vulnerability factor grasp hold.

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Within the confines of Lovedom, I'm not sure people realize the power they hold over the other half of the relationship; whether or not they even think about it for that matter. This extreme invitation we're given to crush another's spirit at will, should we choose to all of a sudden find ourselves bored with the heart that we were just yesterday completely love-struck with.

But that's the gamble of it all, and I'll be the first to uphold the notion that the most incredible rewards in life come by way of some great risk. It means being vulnerable, throwing caution to the wind, not following a standard play by play that specifies at what juncture in a relationship this or that is supposed to happen. One of the most amazing testaments to love is the fact that it leaves us feeling a natural high incomparable to anything synthetic.

It is in fact better to love passionately, vehemently, and without regret, than to have never loved at all. Sure, you're going to scrape your knee a couple of times, perhaps fall from that jungle gym into that pit of bark, and Jimmy, well Jimmy may just use your little love note to line his bird cage.