I met love for the first time at 18. Love was beautiful. Love was kind. Love was funny. Love was mine. Love was consuming. Love was impairing. Love gave me fear. Love gave me tears. Love drove me insane. Love gave me pain. Love was rough. Love wasn’t enough. Love was never a mistake. Love was just a heartbreak. Love was a lesson. Love was a blessing. Love became a memory but never forgotten.
I met love again at 24. Love was not perfect. Love was not what I expected. Love couldn’t sing but somehow it had the right ring. Love was a mess, but that never gave me stress. Love was warm, and I never felt like I was in harm. Love was content, and willing to stay dormant . Love became stagnant, much like a refrigerator’s magnet. Love was predictable, and it made me miserable. Love did not grow, and that was something I could not follow. Love had lost its connection, and we soon headed in different directions. Love ended but we befriended.
I met love again at 27. Love was a beautiful reflection. Love is alone, but happy. Love is still growing, but confidently. Love makes mistakes, but love is still learning. Love loves love.
-This is not a love story.