Then she realised something. She wasn’t in love with him. She was in love with the idea of him.
This realisation should have shocked her, but it was almost as if she had known the entire time but had just been hiding it from herself. Why shouldn’t she be in love with him? On paper he was the perfect guy. But that was just it. He was almost too perfect. Being with him felt safe, and comforting. The only word she could think of to describe it was ‘nice’. But that was the problem you see. She didn’t want just nice. She craved the type of love you read about in stories, the type of love that was so wild and confusing that it hurt, but in a good way. People would always say to her, ‘but why would you want to feel pain? Love isn’t supposed to hurt’. But she knew they were wrong. The best type of love, true love, did hurt. It hurts almost too much to bear. But that’s exactly why you bear it. After all, if something is worth having then it shouldn’t be easy. How could you appreciate just how good something is, if it isn’t excruciatingly painful when you don’t have it?