I fell in love first with a boy who always spelled my name wrong. I barely knew him, but I knew that he was funny and kind and talented (he was a theater kid) and really, really hot. I spent three years of high school in love with him, and I don’t regret it. He was my first love but in that puppy-love, high school kind of way. It was legit, I did fall “in love” with him, but it will never matter in any real way ever again.
Then I fell for my best friend. He was, more than anything else, KIND. He listened to me when I was bored, comforted me when I was depressed, told me I was beautiful and smart and loved. He was a geek, like I am. I fell for him accidentally without knowing how. Boy do I regret it. He lied about it all, only pretended to care about me, and is a tremendous asshole in literally every way. Ugh. I shudder to think about him.
Then I went to college, and in a month’s time, I fell for three people. The first two were my best friends: a girl back home, who was depressed and geeky the way I was, and the boy down the hall, who really… got it. I’ve stopped speaking to the girl, and the boy was a short lived infatuation. I don’t regret them. They don’t matter, in the end.
Then there was the third, or rather, IS the third. This wasn’t a fairy tale romance; it was not love at first sight, I didn’t lie awake in agony over the pain of unrequited love. This was simple. This was a love I slipped into comfortably like a well-worn pair of jeans without really noticing it. This was my beloved boyfriend, the love of my life. I didn’t realize I loved him until he told me he loved me; my first reaction was shock. I didn’t reciprocate the words until the next day, when I was sure I felt them. It has been about eight months since then and I’ve only fallen for him more deeply since then. We don’t have a perfect relationship, but we have a damn good one, a strong one, a lasting one.
It may not be the most exciting kind of love, but fuck, it’s the best.