The great tragedy of first love is that it is inevitably lost love. The youth that gives the body its vitality has a wonderfully sad side effect: emotional exuberance. Yet, that youth is fleeting. As you mature you become a different person, and that first love gradually becomes someone who’s living with a leper on the other side of the world. It’s part of growing up, and we’re as powerless to stop it as we are to stop the ongoing decay of the bitter cynic who has forgotten what it is like to feel that first love — whose heart has shriveled into a ball of cold detritus, rendered malodorous by decay and disappointment.