It Took Me 3 Painful Break-Ups to Finally Realize Love’s True Meaning
Love isn’t (just) a hormonal cocktail, deep connection, or lock-and-key compatibility
Hiding the hot tears streaking my face, I stormed away. The soccer court that used to blush at our starlit kisses mocked me. Her taunting half-smile threatened to haunt me.
We’d both known from the start it couldn’t last. She was going abroad for her master’s, and I was only a sophomore. But my naive teenage self was drunk on hope — and “We’ll see when the time comes” arrogance.
Her absence drained my face and world of color. Life became a loop of Lana Del Rey, heartache, and nostalgia…
The serendipity that cast her as the photographer of my bodybuilding debut. The stirring eye contact that made me hunt for her — offline and online. Our world-melting first kiss. Time-dissolving strolls under starlit skies. The silent library hours of singing hormones.
“It was true love. How cruel of the world to separate us.” I drowned in self-pity.
As time marched, memories and heartache faded. Color and zest returned. Healing and wisdom arose.
But only two years later would I realize how wrong I’d been.