I grew up with love, familial platonic and most of all romantic love. That’s why I fell in love with love. I watched Disney love stories and rom-coms all the time. I was surrounded by the concept and promise of real, true, raw love. It made me hopelessly desire love, it caused me to constantly fantasize the idea of meeting someone and falling for them and them falling for me. Having a dream romance full of passion, promise, and unconditional raw love. When I met him for the first time, that's when I decided that the love I saw, the love that made people do crazy things, try new things, start new beginnings, become better people, and drove them absolutely insane it all became clear to me that it was all real the day I met him. It wasn’t instantaneous, but when I saw him I knew that one day he would completely enamor me wholly and truly. The love that I would feel for him would make me sick to my stomach but like a moth drawn to a flame I would keep coming back for more of his love each and every time. I loved him, I adored him, was smitten, and loved him sickly. The way he loves is so warm and precious. His love is like a lustrous crystal, his love is safe, warm, embracing, inviting, and priceless. His embraces are warm and comforting, they bring joy and harmony. His smile is warm to the touch, like getting close to the sun and touching its rays knowing the heat and passion within. His kisses had the taste of fresh berries in summer and filled with fervor & promise, the promise of always being yours. His love is pleasant, precious, and prevalent; yet I will never know this love as it is not mine. I am not the object of his every desire, passion, dream, and thought; that belongs to his lover who is not me but my sister, the girl who met him first.
