Love is, at its core, a feeling of strong affection. It’s a very strange concoction of emotions that makes us desire a certain person’s exclusive romantic attention. Very rarely is love this straightforward, though; problems typically arise once we consider that not only do you have to love the other person, but the other person has to love you back.
As the rapids roared below us and the suspension bridge swayed in a Fall Creek February gale, she laughed with me (and at me) the way she’d done countless times before. She reminded me of the legend that says you’ll die if you kiss on the bridge. She made some crack about the smell of the Thai bubble tea on my breath. And she said something about how I shouldn’t hate her for not liking boba. Though I don’t remember her exact words, I vividly remember mine.
The closest relationship that I have on this campus is with another girl. Let’s call her Cosmos. Although I can’t describe her in her entirety, her beauty is unimaginable. When God was designing her, He must have been in an especially giving mood, compelling Him to give His World a taste of perfection. You look at her, and you think … well that must be it.
In September, your photo came up on my screen while I was scrolling through Tinder. I accidentally swiped left. My stomach dropped. I hurried to the bathroom to avoid waking my roommate, flicked on the light and proceeded to spend the next half hour trying and failing to download Tinder Plus so I could undo my erroneous finger movement. I flooded my best friend’s phone with texts, frantically trying to figure out which way you would’ve swiped on me, and how to show you in a totally-deniable-but-still-flirty-and-cute way that I really, really meant to swipe right.