What is love?

     “I love you.” I never remembered who said it first, but the moment when we exchanged that simple phrase will forever be ingrained in my memory. I was only 4, but I knew that at that moment, what I had said was true. Later, I would look back and wonder if I had even a sliver of an idea of what I was talking about, but 4 year old me felt certain.

    With this newfound love, we were inseparable. I have pictures of me and him with linked arms at the 50’s party; we were always together, and he was probably one of my best friends. In fact, he is most definitely what I would call my “kindergarten boyfriend”. Like I said, we were inseparable. When our siblings caught wind of this newfound romance it suddenly wasn’t so exciting as I was relentlessly being teased and slowly we stopped talking to each other. This spiraled until we literally did not speak a word to each for a little over 7 years.

    Imagine my horror and dread when we ended up in the same class for 7th grade math. I had not spoken to him since I was probably 5 years old, and now I was going to have a class with him all year. Maybe it won't be so bad, I thought. Maybe I won’t even talk to him. I couldn’t have been more wrong. On the first day of school, we were randomly put in the same group and it was as awkward as I had imagined. But slowly, over the course of my 7th grade year, we started texting. Originally, it was about the most random things, sporadic, and awkward, both of us wanting to talk to the other but neither really knowing where to start. Eventually though, it became natural, and by my 8th grade year, we were talking very regularly. In fact, if a day passed where I did not talk to him, it was weird, and sort of. . .sad. Like I had missed talking to him which was a new feeling for me, although I hadn’t forgotten that fateful day on the Lakewood playground when we had declared our love for each other. 

    Eighth grade year, we should have naturally kept talking and growing closer, but somehow. . .we didn’t. This was this other guy who was interested in me, but I was very sure that I was not interested in him and I discovered the wonders of dry texting. See, I didn’t want to be rude and completely ghost this guy, so I would just respond very dryly in an effort to end the conversation. But then, I started to notice a similarity between my dry texts and the texts I was receiving from my guy (and by my guy I mean the one I was interested in). So I stopped texting first, and because of this, we stopped talking as much. I took this as a sign, and completely stopped initiating conversation.

    Freshman year, something shifted and suddenly he was reaching out. He was starting the conversations and I thought again of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, we could be a thing. As the year progressed, that seemed more and more likely until I realized that he liked me. He would not admit it though, and I literally had to coax it out of him before he would admit that he had feelings for me. When he finally did though, it was kinda magical. I mean don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t your stereotypical “I’ve been in love with you forever” storybook moment, but it was sweet, and it was mine and I loved it. 

    The next 2 months were an interesting dynamic as we navigated the “talking” phase. I would wake up to the sweetest messages from the night before telling me how beautiful I was and how smart I was. He was always there for me, willing to encourage me when I felt down, and always eager to compliment me. I felt special, and it was delightful. Those two months were possibly some of the worst in my life, (obviously not because of him) as I tried to navigate the stresses of the fact that my mom had cancer, one of my best friends was randomly passing out and seizing without explanation, and my grandpa was having strokes. Those things were difficult for their own reasons, but he was constantly there for me. I remember one week specifically, when my mom had just received her official diagnosis, I had watched my friend have a seizure for the first time, and my grandpa had two strokes. I was terrified. I was terrified that my mom was going to lose her boobs and her hair but most of all her spirit. I was terrified that my friend was not going to have someone to catch her one day and she would hit the floor and get another brain bleed. I was terrified that my grandpa was going to die. I couldn’t do anything for a good 20 minutes except sit on my bathroom floor, cry, and text him. I dumped so much on him that night I later felt bad but he responded in a way that was so perfect. I was so overwhelmed, but in that moment, I knew he meant what he said and that gave me something to rely on in a very unsteady time.

      We continued in this "talking" stage for almost two months before he finally asked me to be his girlfriend. I was excited, although not surprised, because it had been a long time coming. Still, I couldn't help but repeat it to myself, I have a boyfriend. It was weird for me to say because I had never had a boyfriend before; this was something that only happened to other people, not to me. It felt surreal. And for the next 6 months, it was. I had a person, and I couldn't have been happier about it. He always said good morning to me, good night too, usually accompanied by a heart, and every day he would ask how my day was. He didn't rush me either, he was always content to sit there and listen about whatever had happened, the joys and falls of the day. 

     I remember the first time we held hands, I felt safe. It wasn't like the fairy tales where "our hands fit together perfectly" or "he was the other half to me", in fact the second time we held hands it was the wrong way. By that I mean I have a preference of which thumb is on top and I couldn’t help myself. I had to fix it. He was confused, but he played along and I appreciated that. To feel wanted, cared for, loved. We had said it at the very young age of 4, yet I was never sure if I actually knew what I was saying. I mean, I was 4. What four year old knows anything about love? Even so, I wondered, what if I did know what it meant? What if I did love him? Eventually I had thought about this so much that I could not determine if I was scared to admit that I did love him, or scared to admit that I didn’t. I genuinely was not sure. So, when he told me he loved me, I didn’t know how to respond. I felt bad because obviously my response was not the desired response to that statement, but I wanted to be honest with him, so I was. I still wanted to be with him though, I still wanted a boyfriend, but I was now wondering about my feelings; what was I actually feeling? How did I even begin to decipher that? 

    We aren’t together anymore, not because of some dramatic argument or a divisive thing, we just aren’t. There were other circumstances involved and I don’t feel like explaining it, but it wasn’t dramatic or devastating. In fact, I expected to be more devastated than I was. As it was, I was obviously sad; I missed him like crazy and all of the things that came with being in a relationship with him. I don’t think I would get back together with him, but I definitely don’t regret the experience. He genuinely cared for me, and he probably still does because I know, at least on my end, those feelings don’t just vanish overnight. 

    So did I love him? I don’t know if I will ever feel certain of that fact. Maybe with more maturity and time I will realize the meaning of what I was feeling, but right now I genuinely have no idea. So why was I so certain at age 4? What made me think–of course I love this boy, without a shadow of a doubt in my mind? If I truly loved him, would I have been able to break up with him? I don’t know. I do know that I went from talking to him everyday to not saying a word to each other, and that drastic contrast hurt. I still catch myself getting excited about something that he would enjoy until I realize that I can no longer share that with him, and that saddens me because whether or not I loved him, he still was a large part of my life for most of 3 years so of course I will miss that, miss him.