this is what people say: that when you are young and giddy and naïve, you will think that you love someone when you don’t. teenage dreams have an uncanny ability to paint everything in technicolor shades, to make you drunk on love songs and fairytales and illusions. you will build a house of cards and call it a castle. you think that you love him, but you don’t, they tell you, patronizing, superior. you just wait and see.
but i do, but i do, but i do. i am not some dizzy, careless girl too caught up in a facade — i could not possibly have made this up on my own. when you’re in love you can feel it; it builds a home inside of you, swings from the bars of your ribs, climbs along the wall of your throat. it swims through your veins and lights you from the inside out. it changes you. did you know? the human body recreates itself every six months — nearly every cell and bone dies, and is replaced. you are not who you were last november. and this is what i will tell you: it is the same with love — once you fall in love, you are no longer who you used to be. when your whole universe is sliced into two neat sections of before and after, when the core of your gravity is now tied to one single person, when your heart is no longer yours to keep, really, how could you not know? how could you possibly carve this out of your imagination?