I thought I knew love in first grade when a certain little second grader caught my attention and I caught his. I thought I knew love in fifth grade when I had a guy to call mine and play one on one basketball with. I thought I knew love in sixth grade when I developed a crush on my dorky best friend. I thought I knew it when, in eighth grade, I fell for a guy, then despite his rejection, became friends with him. Several times in ninth grade I thought I had it figured out, each time the same person, each time a different story. I thought I knew love when we went to homecoming together, when I spent months just staying his friend for his sake, when I was rejected once again by this friend of mine.

I thought I knew love, what it was. But love is none of those, not for me, anyways. Love was when, after all this, after I decided maybe love wasn't real, my heart showed me a friend of mine. Not attractive to society's standards, but who am I to judge when he has a heart of gold and the kind of personality that makes me want to be myself? Love is when you find someone you don't want to change yourself for. Instead you want to be your truest, most beautiful self, and, without ever realizing, they help you accomplish that.

That. That is love.