Eventually I’ll stop writing about you and it’ll be bittersweet. Not because I’m not in love with you, but because I’ll just love you.

True love is not expecting a response when you say I love you.

There’s only one photo of us together and neither of us took it. I was so obsessed with the moment and entrapped in a world of him that nothing else mattered. I had no idea where my phone was, my mind or anything else. It was truly beautiful, sad and so beyond anything I’ve ever understood. I sit and smile and realize as I reminisce that it was beautiful to love someone else more than myself, but it was bliss to feel nothing for everything else.

I touched him. From brain to body, in ways I couldn’t quite understand. But he did and for him, that was all that mattered.

I don’t remember his face or the place we ate. I only remember how he grabbed my hand and his voice when he spoke of his dad.

I was nineteen. You had your lips on my neck and whispers in my ear. You drove me crazy. But I mistook crazy for absolute happiness.