I love dusk, when the sky turns different shades of beautiful. I love summer nights and looking at the stars. I love a hot cup of coffee shared with my girlfriends and good conversation. I love being in the arms of a man who makes me feel safe. I love lazy days spent indoors watching a movie. I love being snowed in with good company. I love a margarita on the rocks with mexican food. I love laughing until my stomache hurts and there are tears in my eyes. I love that I find happiness in the little things in life.
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I love a lot of things, but ask me if I’ve ever been in love and that’s a different story. When I was fifteen, my boyfriend of 1 month told me he loved me and I would answer with a “love ya too.” I knew I wasn’t in love with him. My boyfriend at 17 told me he loved me and I thought I loved him too. I thought I loved him because I stayed with him through so many lies and betrayals but that wasn’t love, I tell myself in hindsight, it was insecurity. When I was 21, I fell in like with my best guy friend. I fell so hard but I didn’t fall in love, I tell myself. That takes two people, doesn’t it? And at 22, I met The Ex. We never said I love you. Our relationship was complicated and still I feel like I can’t admit I was in love with him. I think I may have been, I think he may just be my first love but I can’t say it. It’s funny how easily I can say I love other things.
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I can say I love sand between my toes and the smell of salt water. I love long soft kisses and a man’s hands playing with my hair. I love my family and our craziness. I love playing in the snow. I love the sound of laughter and children giggling. I love learning new things and finding new hobbies. I love staying in my pajama’s all day on a Sunday.
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Maybe I can say I love him, maybe I was in love with him but maybe, just maybe, I love the thought of a greater love even more.