I remember the moment when my first real love died.
The relationship had been on life support for about a year. I had wanted out, but I couldn’t bring myself to say so. And then one autumn afternoon, everything ended. Even though I had wanted it to end, I felt a pain unlike anything I had ever felt. This must be a mistake. But it was over.
Years later, another love ended. There had been other loves along the way — smaller loves, maybe — but this one felt more powerful and more real than anything I’d ever felt. Things got complicated. I backed out of marrying her. She moved on. Things got messy. The pain was even more intense than the losses that had come before.
I thought there would never be anyone else. Unexpectedly, there was. It was someone I had casually known in the past. She sent me a message out of the blue. Before long, I had fallen head over heels for her. She said she loved me and wanted to marry me.
And then — suddenly — she didn’t want a future with me. There was no explanation. Not then. Not ever.
I was left feeling all alone. Missing someone I couldn’t have. More hurt than I had ever been in my life.
But despite the pain — and despite the pain that had come with the end of every love so far — all I wanted was to fall into the grips of love again.
Against all of my experience, I believed that love could finally come and stay. For me.

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If romantic love is mental illness, do many of us want to be cured?
Correcting an old error: there’s no such thing as ‘We the People’
My teen hijinks were silly fun, not alcohol-fueled drunken groping
Shouldn’t standards be higher for those trusted to enforce our laws?
No matter how admired you are, your work won’t make you special