I have a couple of questions. The most pertinent: Can you grow to love someone?

Theoretically, this seems the healthiest way to start a relationship. For often those unions which begin as a firework-riddled chemical explosion are those that last five minutes. Too often, five minutes too long. The brightest candles do burn the quickest, after all. However, it is after years of chemical practice that I find myself in a pattern that is difficult to break.

In fact, so many of my brief romantic sojourns have been based on blinding attraction. One liaison, years ago, was so chemical, my back would be turned away from a door, and this particular fellow just had to walk into the room, and I knew he had arrived before I'd even seen him.

It was the kind of chemistry whereby we'd lock eyes across the room, and tangible little lightning bolts would bounce off the walls. It was a chemistry that would undeniably end in us partaking in some heavy breathing and sweaty bodily activity before too long. And it did.

We had barely anything in common, yet we couldn't keep our hands off each other. The one thing we did have in common, though, was our penchant for using ice blocks in our sexual repertoire. And we mutually agreed that we'd never had such an explosive bout of shagging in all our humble experiences.

Chemistry or love?

However chemistry is so often confused with love. There's no denying that chemistry fuels an unfathomable connection between two people, and for the short-term, there's nothing like the constant butterfly-in-your stomach sensation whenever your cellphone beeps. But on the flipside, giving someone the time of day you're not completely one hundred percent sure about, is supposed to be a sensible, systematic way of going about things. And can apparently ensure long-term happiness if you give it a chance.

So maybe he has buck teeth. But what happens when the guy completely appreciates who you are, is intelligent, stupendously witty, enjoys doing the same things you do, and buys you gift vouchers on Kalahari.net?

You get on like a house a-blazing, you make each other laugh and after a few glasses of wine at yet another restaurant he has taken you to, you feel that you might even be able to go for it? Or perhaps, you wonder if you spend more time together as friends, you'll grow to love this person as much as he loves you?

Your friends then tell you not to settle, your mother informs you that you've found your future husband and because he does yoga, and knows a little something about Taoism, she's practically adopted him as the son she never had.

Finding a 'deeper connection'

All of this results in immediate confusion. I've seen people grow to love each other. I've seen people give the other the time for their feelings to grow, patiently waiting for the doubting one to see the light. I've seen people who were tentative in the beginning, due to lack of compelling, crazy instant chemistry. And those people are married and happy today. Therefore it's not completely out of the question.

There's that talk of finding a 'deeper connection' beyond all that hedonistic lust. Of course there is the possibility that eventually you'll realise that this person is everything you have ever wanted in a partner. But again, there's an even stronger possibility that this won't happen.

You'll give it a bash, and after a significant moment involving the touching of skin and body parts, you are filled with repulsion. Predictably, you end up shattering their hearts into millions of pieces.

Your friends love him, your male colleagues hate him, your therapist tells you to be wary, and your parents want him to come along on the annual family trip.

The messages are what cause immediate frustration born out of confusion. Everyone can offer their pearls of wisdom and advice, but it doesn’t seem to help, in fact it just makes the situation worse.

It's imperative, I believe, to sort out how you feel about risk, chemistry and connection all by yourself. Don't mock your own intuition, because as I have discovered, you're going to be the one stroking his hair and staring into his doe-like eyes, not your friends.

Is it even possible for me — Lucy Hunt, a woman addicted to chemistry — to bend her own rules?