The First Time I Fell in Love (with Someone)
“Love” is defined as “an intense feeling of deep affection,” but that is, with great respect to whoever came up with that, the most pathetic way to put it. Love is so much more than that. One day, I realized that whatever I had felt with other people before him wasn’t love, it was something else. Desperation. Pity. The first time I fell in love with someone, I understood that every time I thought I had been in love before that person was completely illusory. Every love I had that wasn’t familial expressed itself differently, but they all had one thing in common — pain. I had thought that the more it hurt me to love them, the more it was worth it. But that wasn’t the case. That’s what happens when you romanticize abusive relationships. At one point you have to say enough is enough. I spent years believing I wasn’t enough when in reality I deserved more. I deserve better. The first time I fell in love with someone, I didn’t even want it to happen. I had just gotten out of a traumatic relationship a few months before, and I was keen on not loving anyone else — for a very long time. I didn’t want to fall into my old patterns again and end up getting more than what I bargained for. I was trying to protect myself. But then I met him, and I told myself that he was worth the risk. I know that pain is inevitable, but you can decide who gets to hurt you, and whether they’re worth it or not.
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He was. He is. The first time I fell in love with someone, the meaning of love changed for me. Up until then, I thought that love was just giving until you had nothing left to give. But that isn’t the case. Because if they love you too, they wouldn’t keep taking. I learned that love is so much more than that. Love is when you aren’t afraid to talk about what’s bothering you, because they will listen. It’s when you can trust them with the most intimate parts of you in every dimension. To me, love is when you get four hours of sleep the night before, but you wake up early to see if he’s sleeping alright because you know he has a hard time sleeping in the first place. You open your eyes and move over so he has space, and then you rearrange his pillow and lift his head up because it’s flat on the bed now, and you keep doing this for the next two hours because you yourself can’t go back to sleep. Then you resign to sitting at the foot of the bed and watching him, all peaceful with his eyes closed and you think to yourself that you could do this all day. Love is when he offers to call you an Uber even if he’s a hundred and some miles away and you’re drunk at a frat party and want to go home already. It’s when he himself will drive those hundred miles just to see you for a few hours, whenever he has a free weekend. Love is when you go to Ikea as a date and it’s not a fancy
restaurant but you couldn’t care less because you’re finally with him and that’s all that matters to you. Love is when he’s driving and you spoon feed him his ice cream because he has to keep his hands on the wheel. Love is when you put your head on his lap when you’re at the beach and he runs his hand through your hair and you thank your lucky stars that you’re with no one else but him. You beg those same stars not to let the day end. But it does. And love is when you count the days until you get to see him again. You tell all your friends how happy you are, and they believe you this time, because they can see it in your face. You look at flights to New York because you want nothing more than to go to your favorite place in the world and spend every moment there with your favorite person. You start pretending he’s with you when you’re lonely or you can’t sleep, just to make things easier. You like, no, you love looking at him; he said he wants to go to every art museum in New York with you but there’s no need when he’s right in front of you. The sound of his voice is enough to make your heart beat normally. And that’s more than you can ask for. Sincerely Yours,
Chelsea Santos
