of you

Everybody falls in love at least once before eighteen. Or at least have once been "gived" to someone and received a heart in exchange. Not me. I am eighteen, fearing it more and more each time I remember it, and I'm only pain and excuses, and solitude bigger than the sun. And it burns much more.
It's silly expressing this thought as in something as real as writting, but the necessity of both doing it and doing it in English lead me to this.
All my friends have been in a situation of kissing in the mouth of someone they liked and they were always wanting to talk about it, or just aswering my childish questions about things I can't talk about. But on the other hand I kissed already the guy my heart was suffering with. But it wasn't good enough, it was bohemic and unreal, was not true. It did happened, but I can't remember most of it. Alcohol had this things. For me, the worst things in my life did happen through it.
But the fact that I haven't fell in love with someone I could express my heart through shacky hands, naive smiles and heart beats without end, that makes me sad. Not because everybody else did, and not because I truly believe this is what I am questing for, but because I only want to know what is it like. If it's beautiful like everybody says it is, if I can have what my parents have, if it is immortal and eternal and unconditional. Maybe I just want it a little bit for me.
I am not sure if I had fell in love or not, by now. In a normal situation I would answer, off course. But talking with myself, there's this huge feeling that a broken heart is not the same as a love failure, so maybe I didn't. But not knowing it means I can't talk about it, and maybe that's what I need by now; to talk about beautiful things and forget you have to grow up without me, that's what's my mind is in all the time when I am awake. And when I dream.