subject line: on falling in love too easily.

 

grand rapids, michigan

So...there’s this boy. There’s always a boy. Actually, there are two boys.

One with whom I had a real relationship, one for the books. He threw a pop can at me when I was seven years old, and I think I fell in love right then. But somewhere between sunsets over the lake and long tractor rides, we both packed up our bags and moved eight hours away, in opposite directions. He lingers on my mind, on my heart. It’s a year later now, and I’m still trying to let go of what could have been.

When I moved, I met a new city with a reputation for all things bittersweet, and I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love. There’s a barista here, and we’ve only met a few times. But I know him. In a way that only a dreamer can, I know him. I’ve loved him in my head. Like a Chet Baker song, we’ve danced and laughed and cried together.

But now I’m moving, again. Moving for the fourth time in five years and it’s breaking my heart. Because our time is coming to an end, and because soon I’ll have to start all over. It’s silly, really, to have fallen for an idea of a man instead of the actual man. But it’s not him I’m going to miss. It’s the idea of him - the idea of what could have been if our conversations hadn’t lingered only on lattes.

They were right - this city is bittersweet. I’ve changed a lot here. I’ve learned, too. And I guess you could say I’ve loved, although my daydreams only brought me heartache. But on the days when I am the best and strongest version of myself, I believe this: it doesn’t matter how many men I could have loved. There is only one that I will spend my life loving, and I truly believe he will be better than the others. Not because he will be stronger or more attractive or tell better jokes, but better because he will be real, and he will know me fully and love me in return. And instead of wondering about what could have been, we’ll spend our days building a legacy on porch swings and breakfast in bed. And that will be enough.