When I was ten
I thought I knew what love was when the boy next door followed me home after class one day to kiss my cheek and run away.

When I was thirteen
I thought I knew what love was when the boy I played soccer with said he liked the way my hair fell in my face.

When I was fifteen
I thought I knew what love was when the man I thought of as a teacher told me I made him feel young as he slid his tongue in my mouth.

When I was seventeen
I thought I knew what love was when my best friend told me he loved me, but he didn't want to sacrifice our relationship.


I don't doubt that I felt love in every one of these instances, but I didn't feel true love until I was curled up in a blanket at 4 in the morning telling you about all of these people and knowing you would never be a story I told someone else.