Never. Which is sort of surprising to me. I’m capable of love, of caring, of commitment. But I’ve never been lucky enough to be in love. I’m 43, and although I guess I don’t mind being alone, I wish it were different.
StG
Never, really. I thought I was once, but it turned out I was wrong. But hey, that’s OK, I make up for it by being bitter.
Ha ha! No, not really. I make up for it via a strong diet of heavy denial.
When I read the question, my immediate answer was “twice.” Then I thought about it. Number one was infatuation–I was nineteen and didn’t know what love was. Number two … the more I think about it, the more I think I only loved the idea of him. I spent more time thinking about the things I’d like to change than I did thinking about the things I wanted to stay the same. That’s not love, I don’t think.
So … never. Damn.
I also make up for it by being bitter–I’m good at it. 
Once. He’s it, my best friend, everything.
Thought I was once before, involved for seven years, wow do I see things differently now.