I knew it was love when

I looked up at the ceiling and I asked, “Thank you God, more please?” I knew it was love when I saw you crying and my heart started hurting too. I knew it was love when I had just seen you an hour ago, but I couldn’t wait to see you again. I knew it was love when I kept anticipating seeing the dolphin and pineapple emojis pop up on my phone. I knew it was love, young and shy love, when I wanted to bring you home to meet my parents, but too shy to introduce you as my boyfriend. I knew it was love when I was too scared to talk about you with my sister, my best friend. I knew it was love when I got jealous of all the other girls you dated before me. I knew it was love when we had taken some time apart to see other people, but I still wanted to be with you. I knew it was love when you came dancing with me and my school friends — you didn’t know a single soul there, yet you played Kings with us and danced with me all night long like we had known each other our whole lives. I knew it was love when playing dollar games on the boardwalk and sharing a frozen smoothie became ‘the best day ever.’ I knew it was love when sitting on the beach and looking at the stars with you in my arms felt like heaven on earth. I knew it was love when baby Jayden barfed after one too many bumper car rides and you cleaned him up. You told him how he was such a brave and good boy, and I just knew I was falling in love with you. I knew it was love when you stayed up with my stepdad watching Liam Neeson movies even though your eyes were drowning in sleep. I knew it was love when I could laugh at you picking pineapple fibers out of your teeth and throwing them on my bed. I knew it was love when you held me even after I acted bratty. I knew it was love when I’d get more excited about coming home than leaving for a trip, because coming home meant coming back to you. I knew it was love when you asked me for my flight details. I knew it was love when you drew me a rose on my baseball cap because getting a flower from you trumped any silver or gold. I knew it was love when you had covid but all I wanted to do was be in isolation with you. I knew it was love when I had covid, and you joined me in isolation and made me a truffle-oil burger. I knew it was love when you came back after conner’s wedding and spent the night at my place; I knew it was love because we had spent the whole morning together, but seeing you at nighttime was equally as exciting. I knew it was love when cooking budae jjigae for you felt like a loving feat. I knew it was love when staying home and watching a movie with you sounded more exciting than going out with the girls. I knew it was love when you squeezed my leg in the car. I knew it was love when going to candy stores became an adventure. I knew it was love when holding your hand felt natural and like a safe space. I knew it was love when I stopped minding being big spoon and I knew it was love when I didn’t care if I was hearing the same gary jokes for the 78th time in a row. I knew it was love when I wrote you a fictional short story of our friends and instead of commenting on it, you continued the story line with your own version — only you would do that. I knew it was love when I watched you play the violin. I knew it was love when we duet’d to Timbaland and Jason Derulo together. I knew it was love when I actually got excited about listening to Martin Garrix on repeat in the car. I knew it was love when you looked at me with those big, beautiful and nebulous-colored eyes. I just knew it was love. I knew it was love when I wanted to send you photos of little happenings in my day — you didn’t ask for them, but you always had the best responses. And I knew it was love when you sent me photos back — the delicious meal you had with your parents, your friend being punished for losing fantasy football, a cute selfie here and there, and photos of your latte that was 90% milk and only 10% coffee. I knew it was love when I saw the little stash of sticky notes and cards I wrote for you in the corner of your desk. I knew it was love when you hugged me and wouldn’t let me go. I knew it was love when my friends asked “What do you like about him so much?” and I couldn’t put it to words at the time— the swarm of electric blue butterflies that would linger in my stomach every time you looked at me, which would soon be replaced by the warm, comfortable, soft, safe, sleepy, and sound feeling I get when I’m in your arms. I should’ve answered them like this —that you fill me with happiness and excitement, but that you also feel like home, which is the most beautiful and oxymoronic dichotomy of feelings that do not belong together, but feel dopaminergic when they are. I knew it was love when I started seeing your flaws, but I fell in love with them too. I knew it was love when you lied to me, and even though I despise lies, I made a one-time exception for you. I knew it was love when you showed uncertainty about me, but I felt certain about you. Maybe that was foolish love, but it was still love. I knew it was love when you called me the most special person you had ever met, because you were the most special person I had ever met, and hearing you say that was a confirmation that we — the two most special people in the world — were in love. I knew it was love when we talked about going our own ways, but neither of us had the courage to pull the trigger. I knew it was love when we stayed until 3a in my parking lot crying because we feared life without one another. I knew it was love when we sat outside Aziza listening to that artist strumming on his guitar, and all of his songs sounded like love songs about us. I knew it was love when I tried bargaining with God to bring us back together. I knew it was love when you texted me on Easter, because you understand and respect my faith in God.

And I know it is love right now as I write this, as my broken heart is healing. I know it is love that allows me to let you go, because you’re right — to love someone is to want them to be happy for the rest of their days on this earth. I know it is love because I look forward to the day I get to see you again in heaven. I know it is love as all of my girlfriends tell me to forget you and move on, and while I do need to move on, I could never forget you. I know it is love as all of our memories of being together come flooding back and my heart twists, turns, and contorts at the thought of all those times I hurt you. I know it is love as regret pours into regret and I find myself lost again at sea. I know it is love because the thought of hurting you is now killing me. I know it is love because even after I’ve given you my heart in its entirety, it feels like there is still more to give. I know it is love as my brain is telling me to hate you, but my heart would rather hate my brain than to hate…you. I know it is love now that I’m starting to accept that we are apart, but I still crave your silly smile and tender touch — your friendship. I know it is love because I could write and write until I exhaust this page of all the things I love about you, but none of these reasons could fully contain how or why I love you. And I know it is love as I still haven’t thrown out the blue and white toothbrush you used to use when you stayed the night at my apartment. I know it was and is love. Even if I might tell myself otherwise sometimes, I want to remember you as love — me as being loved by you, and you as being loved by me. That was all it was — love, love, and only love.

My labmate told me this the other day, that heartache allows us to appreciate art more. The songs and poems about hearts being broken in two, the abstract art hanging in modern museums that unbroken hearts cannot appreciate — only those who have loved and have been loved can fully value. He’s not wrong. I used to walk around the High museum with mere surface-level appreciation for paintings with vibrant colors. But now every brush stroke reeks of pain and each etch looks like a scar. Justin Bieber sounds like William Shakespeare, and I feel a deep estranged sadness when I hear about celebrities breaking up on the news. I anticipate the day I can start listening to pop music again and visiting museums without being reminded of you. You’re lovely to think about, but thoughts about you also bring me pain, and I’m not a sadist by any means. I’m in the thick of healing and the healing process has brought along with it many questions. One particular question I’ve been asking myself and inquiring of God is ‘Why does it hurt so much?’ It’s been almost a month and He still hasn’t answered me yet. Maybe He wants me to arrive to the answer alone, or maybe I will never know. But I have an inkling that His answer just might be this: because it was love, is love, and will always be love.