I was never one of those girls
that believed love was a necessity in life.
I didn’t spend my time pining over boys,
I was far more interested in books.
And love couldn’t define me.

When I met you,
your self-proclaimed social awkwardness
resonated with every misfit moment of my life.
I can’t remember when I fell in love with you,
maybe it was there from the start.
Something more than friendship drove me
to climb out a window and walk halfway to town,
shrugging off consequences that had formed
the cage I had lived in for years.
I believe I loved you then,
I have loved you since.

I am not defined by my love for you.
It has transformed me, remade me
into a better person than I could ever be
before you.
The kind of person that sacrifices,
that holds you when you cry and
tries to make you smile.
The kind of person that spends
hours by your side, memorizing
every feature of your face.

I have learned that strength and vulnerability
go hand in hand.
That even though I too am sad,
I can still turn the stereo up
and ask you to dance under the stars,
wiping away your tears.

Our love is filled with little moments
like that, where I learn lessons of
life, and of love, where I send my
brain into overdrive trying to remember
everything that’s happening.
These are my favorite memories,
the ones where you
remake me.


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