I found a handwritten note in a box in my room dated 6/24/2011. I was sixteen when I wrote it, knee deep in a high school relationship that would last for three years and end explosively during my first semester of college. As I struggle to find my place in my current relationship, it surprises me how I’m still feeling the same things I felt four years ago. Anyway, here is my sixteen year-old self’s reflection on love:
One of the worst types of pain is the pain you feel when you learn that someone you loved, trusted, and idealized isn’t as perfect as you thought they were. When we are in love, we want to believe the other person is flawless, and entirely ours. But when we learn of their imperfections, it becomes hard for us to distinguish which parts of them are real and which parts of them we have imagined to preserve our own sanity.