The truth about my love.

I don't know if you have noticed, but I happen to be terribly realistic.
Perhaps to a fault.
I was never a romantic.
I never believed a man would sweep me of my feet.
I pictured marriage as an arrangement of sorts.
The one you enter when you graduate college and need to make that "next step" in life.
When I met Jane I was baffled by her openness to love.
She lived for it.
Thrived on it.
Couldn't wait for the day when she would find "the one."
I couldn't understand.
But then there was this boy.
That made me terribly happy and terribly confused all at the same time.
I resisted the urge to "like" him.
{Like is such a loaded word because of course you LIKE someone... there just doesn't seem to be a word to describe appropriately what happens when you start to fancy a boy.}
Filled my head with false thoughts of parting. 
I even broke up with him. 
I wasn't miserable. 
But I wasn't as happy as I was when I was with him. 
Jane and I had a lot of long talks and she was apprehensive like a best friend should be.
The boy and I talked.
And talked.
And talked.
And talked.
The long distance was hard.
I always jumped to the worst conclusions from so far away.
He has found someone better.
He is having more fun without me. 
He doesn't think about me as much as I think about him.
And that is where most of the problems arose.
In my head.
I was trying to have this relationship with my head and not my heart.
I know the head is important and things must be thought through, but what ultimately mattered most was how I felt when I was with him.
He made me laugh.
Treated me like a queen.
Let me tell him my dreams and ambitions.
I was happy.
I was in love.
And I still am.
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