I never believed in love.
Well, I suppose I had at some point. I had to, I loved romance too much. I found a boy to date, hoped for “the spark” you’re supposed to feel when you’re in love. I listened to love songs, happy and sad, and waiting for someone to write one about me. I devoured book after book, trying to satiate the appetite for the happily ever after I dreamed of.
But it was in vain.
To some extent, I think I always knew it would be. I knew if I tried to force a connection, it wouldn’t work, not in the way I wanted it to. Still didn’t hurt any less, though.
So, I stopped.
I stopped waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue me from the clutches of the monster called “loneliness.” I stopped listening to music, living in silence instead. I stopped believing in love, in the happily ever after.
I swore off love. Indefinitely. Eternally. Forevermore. I decided I was happy enough by myself
Then I met her, and I realized no, I was not happy enough by myself.
Her, with her warm, brown eyes. Her, with her bold, black hair. Her, with her rosy, dimpled cheeks, covered in constellations of freckles, the light of a thousand stars candescent through her smile.
She understood me, she let me lean on her shoulder, let me cry to her about anything.
Except…
There was… something I hadn’t told her.
Society deemed me “wrong,” religion called me a sin, hell, even the kids in my school would’ve called me an abomination if they knew how I’d felt. If they knew who I’d liked. What I liked.
So, I couldn’t tell anyone.
Not my family, my mother, my father, my brother. I couldn’t tell them. How could I? How could I have known how they’d react? How could I have known how they’d feel? How could I have known how they’d treat me? I couldn’t tell them.
But she knew.
I think she knew a while before.
I think it was obvious to her.
There’s only so many female artists you can listen to before it’s obvious.
She knew.
And I knew I needed to tell her. She deserved as much from me. She deserved to know how I felt. I needed to tell her. Even if she shunned me, even if she laughed at me, even if she left me. She deserved as much.
So, I told her.
And, slowly, she made me believe in love again.