Love Defined (Part One)

This is a short story I wrote a while back. It is kind of a poetical style of letters that I haven't tried before. It will have one more part posted next week. 

They told me sixteen was too young to fall in love. They told me that it wouldn’t last. That I would forget about you soon enough.

They told me that I didn’t know what love really meant. 

But I knew. 

Love was the time I was mad and locked myself in my room, but you sat silently outside my door and waited until I was ready to come out and talk. 

Love was you doing the dishes for me one night just because. 

Love was cutting a date short because you knew I had homework to do.

Love was you picking me up at the door of my work when it was pouring rain. 

Love was you laying in a field with me, watching the stars. 

Love was sitting next to me in church because I couldn’t stand for the songs.

Love was you prodding me to get out of my comfort zone and try new things. 

Love was being willing to get up a five AM to drive to a doctor’s appointment with me. 

Love was standing up for me in front of my dad. 

Don’t try to skew my perception of love. I know what it is. I know my parents were trying to show love to me when they told me I would forget soon enough. That obviously you weren’t good enough for me if you would leave like that. 

And I know what stupid is. Just in case you were wondering. 

Stupid is taking a plane to Australia without telling anyone. It’s running away without telling anyone why. Stupid is never writing or calling, or texting to say why in the world you left. 

They told me it was because you didn’t care, but I couldn’t believe that. 

I know what caring is. 

Caring is showing up on my birthday and finding me not feeling well, so canceling all your well-laid-out plans and just watching cartoons with me instead. Caring is telling me about your plans for college, when all we really wanted to talk about was plans for our future. 

They told me sixteen was too young to plan my future. That there was a whole world of options out there and I shouldn’t just take the first thing that looked good. 

But you told me we would prove them wrong. It’s been two years, and we haven’t proven them wrong. 

They were right. There are other good things out there. Like graduation ceremony’s, and ice cream on a hot day. There’s watching my friends start life’s, and jobs at boutiques. 

But those things all ring hollow without you. 

Love is being there for the ones you care about. It’s about not making them stand up to get a diploma alone when their parents are both working and can’t come. It’s about being there to share small moments. It’s about celebrating others' success together. It’s about communication. 

They told me if you cared you would write to me. 

They were wrong. 

Because I know you care about me. I know you still love me, you just don’t want to admit it. 

Love is saying all the things you know need to be said. Love is writing when it’s hard. 

I know, because I didn’t want to write to you. 

I know what hard is. Hard is starting the first day of a job without anyone to celebrate with me. It’s having to drive yourself to the doctors when you’re in so much pain you’re not sure you should be driving. Hard is coming home every day to an empty house, and an empty mailbox. It’s not attending college because you can’t drag yourself out of bed that many times a week. Hard is having to explain what your best friend isn’t here when you don’t even know the answer. 

Hard is something I’ve come to know far better than I ever thought I would. 

They told me I didn’t have any hope of recovery. I wanted to prove them wrong. 

But recovery is such a broad term. Recovered is being able to drive myself everywhere. Being able to get up four days out of seven so I can work. Recovered is being able to make my own meals, and not be crippled with pain every time I get up. 

But recovered is not being able to live normally. It’s not being able to go to college. It’s not being able to chase after the one person I ever truly loved. 

Recovery is something I’m always working on. Some days I do better than others. 

But two years have taught me a lot about how to overcome. But I’ve never gotten used to doing it without you. It’s not like it used to be.

Remember how you used to help me up the stairs when I was tired? You used to always bring me home early because you didn’t want to wear me out. You used to say it was okay to not be like everyone else, that you liked me just the way I was. 

But was it my problems that drove you away? If so I wouldn’t blame you. Even I feel repelled some days by my own health. 

I haven’t really forgiven you for running, but I would understand if it was just my health. 

They said you were too blithe to be saddled with a depression like me. They said I would slow you down. They were right, but you never seemed to care.

From the first day I met you, I’ve slowed you down. That first day I came in, wobbling on my crutches after surgery and you helped me. Every day after that you helped me to class. I slowed you down at your games because you would always help me to a seat before you went to gear up. I slowed you down at friendships because people never really liked how much we stuck together. 

Was I slowing you down too much? 

They said our love would never last. That teens had no idea how to build a lasting relationship together. 

They were wrong. Because long after you left, I’ve still loved you. 

And I love you even now, with every fiber of my being. I miss the way you said goodnight, pressing a kiss to my knuckles like we were a regency couple. I miss the way you opened doors for me. I miss the way you always fell asleep against me during movies. I miss the way you always complimented how I looked, even when I looked terrible. I miss having a reason to get up every day. 

But I wanted to let you know that even if you called at three AM I would answer and want to talk. 

Even if you couldn’t talk about us, I would listen. Even if you just needed someone to say hello to, I’m here for you. 

Because I don’t know what dragged you away. I don’t know if it was me, or someone else, or even you. 

But I do know that I love you. 

They said my love would fade over time, but they were wrong. 

Love waits, checking every day for news for you. It holds fast to friends, even when they let go. Love dares to hope that you still love back. It waits patiently for you to be ready. Love picks up the phone every time it rings, hoping it will be you. Even at three in the morning. 

Love was waiting for you. Please come back.