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By Chelsea Rufo


I was envious of their love.


The love we constantly see portrayed

on our television screens. I always

dreamt of experiencing that same

blissful love,

the type of love where forever

wasn't impossible

and every little thing in life was what

we appreciated together.


The silly little thing we call love;


I wanted that for myself so desperately


and looked forward to one day meeting the person I

would share that love with,

but what I didn't realize at the time was

that love could only last so long

while hurt seemed to last an eternity and

the loneliness that accompanied it would

feel this crippling

as if it consumed my entire being.


But, what makes my words seem so absurd is

that I have, in fact,


never received love from someone else, at

least not in the romantic sense.

No one ever looked at me with those eyes, the

ones dripping with honey.

No one ever bought me flowers or

felt giddy around me.

No one ever wanted to hold my hands and

warm them up on a cold winter day. No

one.

Not even one.


Only in my dreams have

I ever experienced

the love I've always wanted


where someone would wrap me in their arms, and

bring me on small dates,

all while never feeling embarrassed

about being with me in the first place.


It's weird isn't it,


how I could imagine all the good

without ever thinking about

the possibility of bad, all

the could have been

arguments, manipulation,

cheating, and lying.

I loved the idea of love,

but the reality of it all really terrified me.

How was I supposed to give

my everything into something

that could fall apart

so easily at any time of day?


I thought I spent my entire youth

trying to find love elsewhere,

for someone else to give me the same love I

knew I would be able to give them,

and yet only is it now that I realized. I

wasn't chasing after love,

I was chasing after something so

perfect, impossible, and unreal.


Maybe all I wanted was for someone to care, care

about me in the same way

the main hero would stop at nothing to

do all the little things

that made the heroine feel

like they had someone to lean on

for the rest of their life,

but no one did.


So, I cared for myself

I learned to love myself

and every little imperfection I

thought I needed to change

for someone else to love me.

Because waiting for the perfect person to do so

"is like waiting for rain in this drought,

useless and disappointing."

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