Love

To be honest, I’m not sure how people do it.

I’m not sure how they fall in love and manage to keep their sanity. I’ve been in love a few times, but each was a different version of this magical state most of us strive for. Some were childhood crushes where my daydreaming ran wild and I became an author for my romantic future. I created these beautiful and strong emotions out of a few interactions that ultimately meant nothing. I painted these breathtaking images of stolen kisses, embraces, and Shakespearean monologues of true love.

While I wasn’t “in love” seriously for all of these, but one, I don’t want to disregard them. I don’t want to say, “that wasn’t love” because I believe, at the time, it was a version of love even in its most shallow form.

I’m reminded of a quote given by my mother when discussing her older brother. My uncle apparently dated quite a bit in his day and had many “girlfriends” call the house in tears. One day he’d tell them he loved them and the next, he’d be over them and onto the next set of sparkling eyes that looked his way. When asked why he kept telling these girls he was in love he replied, “Well, in that moment, I really did love them.”

Let that sink in.

In that moment, I really did love them.

That’s how I feel about these past romantic interests. It’s silly because most didn’t go anywhere. Some of these men, if asked, probably wouldn’t remember my name let alone my face or anything else about my brief presence in their lives. Although, in the moment of knowing them and having these interactions with them, I felt as though I loved them.

There was boy I met my Freshmen year of college who I gave so much of myself to. While our relationship was primarily text-based due to the distance, I told him so much about myself. I told him things I hadn’t told anyone else. I told him my fears, anxieties, dreams, and thoughts. And I listened to all of his. Looking back, I realize that I listened more than I spoke. He tended to brush off my words so he could fill in the void with more of his own. I was this bartender to him. This kind face that he could flirt with when bored and spill all of his secrets to. The more I listened the more I felt like I knew him. I liked how he trusted me enough to share his life stories with, but in retrospect he just needed that stranger. Someone who could hold all of this information without ever being able to use it against him or judge or shame. Someone he could kiss when he was feeling low.

But since I was young and inexperienced with boys, I felt so strongly for him. I felt like I knew him better than anyone else and the fact that I knew all of his stories and still wanted him to know that I loved him. And I think I did. I liked his humor and we shared interests. Talking to him was the highlight of my day and I’d fall asleep texting him early into the morning. I knew our timing was off, but I thought one day he’d realize the girl he’d been waiting for all along was right in front of him. That I was the one he came to with his issues. The one he kissed on New Years. The one he texted religiously for a year.

I loved the idea of him. I loved the thought of this boy getting his life together and finding me. Of him achieving his dreams, of becoming a history teacher and moving out of the town he hated so much. I pictured us graduating college and moving to some big city and we’d laugh about how long it took him to see me.

I loved that daydream. And I love the painting I mentally created of him, but if I was serious about him, I wouldn’t have sacrificed my voice for his. And I wouldn’t have thrown him so high onto this pedestal while I lied on the dirt.

But in that year. In that moment. I loved his presence in my life.

I thought I loved my childhood friend. It’s sad, sometimes, when I think about it. We could have had one of those scripted stories of how we ended up together because it really did seem to come straight out of a wholesome Rom-Com. We had known each other since middle school and became friends in high school. I remember spending days in his basement playing Kingdom Hearts and Mario Kart together. I remember when we ended up at the same college and I was always so excited to spend time with him because he was my best friend. And I remember each day slowly caring for him more and more deeply until it hit me that I was head over heels for my best friend.

And when I toyed with the idea of telling him, he found himself a girlfriend.

After that we still spent most of our time texting or hanging out. That Christmas break I would come over to his house while we were both home. She had come home with him, but I remember how he looked at me when she left the room.

I remember telling him about drama with Angel Wings and how he rejected me. I remember him getting visibly upset and telling me he would beat this guy up for me.

I remember when I moved away for graduate school and he drove hours to see me - even for just a night.

After he broke up with his girlfriend, he came to visit me again. This time I joked about trying to find a guy who would go out with me and he offered up a date. Then he told me how he’d like me on and off since high school and how every time a potential relationship was about to happen for him, I’d somehow just reappear in his life. Like this ghost calling him back to the girl he’d always held a flame for.

And I remember talking with him on campus on a cold November afternoon before Thanksgiving break. I told him all of the reasons why he shouldn’t date me. I scare easily and have trouble committing. I don’t know how to be in a serious relationship. I might move far away after next semester. I’m a mess. I’m a screw-up. I’m going nowhere. I’m hideous. I suck. I was trying to make him run because there was no way anyone decent would want me.

Then he kissed me. Something took over me and I kissed him back so passionately. This was 10 years in the making and I couldn’t hold myself back. After a while he told me he could kiss me all day. And then he held me for a long time. Brushed the back of my head. Let me rest my chin on his shoulder. He held me for so long that I felt cold after he let go.

That was the last time I saw him.

After that I got scared and jumped ship. I told him I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it did. I truly did love him. More platonically than romantically, but I think I loved him since I was fifteen. We talk on holidays and birthdays, but I miss him. I think a part of me will always care deeply for him.

When I fell in love with my boyfriend, it was different than these encounters. It was a slow burn of us hanging out weekly and just enjoying each other’s company. Although, I think I fell in love three months after meeting him. I was having a bad month - my car had broken down, struggling with my career, and was trying to navigate this new relationship. It was a lot of change and chaos all too fast and I was still afraid to ask much of him. I really didn’t want to scare him away. I’m still not sure what made me decide to take a leap of faith with him given my fear of commitment, but I just felt like there was the potential for something truly real and good with him. I wanted to see that play out.

Three months after meeting him, we had been officially dating for a couple of weeks when my car broke down and I had no way of getting to work. I worked days as an adjunct and nights as a tutor. While I couldn’t make it 45min to my adjunct job, I could possibly make it to my tutoring job in town. Not to mention that this job was hourly so I desperately needed to be there.

For the entire week, he offered to drive me back and forth to my night job. I think I loved him when he was driving me back home. It was almost midnight and he was showing me a few of his favorite bands and songs. I just sort of looked over at him and thought to myself, “wow, I could do this forever”.

And the feeling continued to grow from that. From every moment he made me laugh to every bad day he made better. From him being able to calm my anxious brain to bringing me my favorite foods when I was sick. I felt like I’d found something I didn’t realize was missing.

Now after knowing him for three years, I know that my feelings for him go far deeper than they had with any guy before him. I know that I can see his flaws and while I still make the mistake of placing him on a pedestal from time to time, there have still been moments where I loved him, but disliked him. I let my voice be heard with him. I don’t hide my bad side with him. I feel as though I can be the realest version of myself with him.

My love for him is comforting. It’s not a painful love or a yearning one. It’s not full of unbridled, animalistic passion. My heart doesn’t burn with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. It’s different.

My love for that college boy was a doodle. Some girl drawing hearts all around her notebooks for the cute boy who showed her an ounce of attention one night.

My love for my childhood friend was a treehouse. It took time to grow from something rooted. The foundation was already there and all we had to do was build memories into the bark. And it was stable and nice, but when you return to it you realize it wasn’t as great as you thought it was. It’s still sweet and you’ll never forget it, but it’s best version was created from nostalgia.

My love for my boyfriend is a cottage. It’s something I’ve built with him. We’ve each brought it pieces of ourselves to make something new and sturdy. I’ve planted flowers around it, kept it in good condition. And sometimes there’s a leak or a flower has wilted. Sometimes the house runs smoothly and other times there’s something to fix, but we don’t let it simmer and ruin the home. We figure out the issue and we mend it and continue this life we’ve built. And I get to open that door everyday with the comfort of knowing he’ll be there.

And I’ll be home.