When I was in the sixth grade I thought I knew what love was. Even though I had never been in love before, I was certain that  if it came walking through the door, I would recognize it.

Love would have short dark hair with beautiful brown eyes to match. Love would be tall and skinny and dress with a purpose. Love would sing me all of my favorite songs. I knew love was out there.

But, when love finally arrived six years later, it had long blonde hair. Love had a pair of blue eyes that shined brighter than any star in the sky. They reminded me of the ocean and all I wanted to do was drown in them. Love was only a few inches taller than me and dressed with a style that i didn’t recognize but soon came to appreciate and admire. Love sang to me all their favorite songs that I had never heard before.

Love is not who I was expecting. Love was not...is not, something I or anyone else can predict.

Love had a rhythm and made sure that I never missed a beat.

And together, we found a place in this world that fit us both perfectly.

But love grew.

Love changed.

And love disappeared.

Love left, taking parts of me that I had worked so hard to build.

I had created a future. Imagining it with love by my side, but that didn’t matter. For love is a stubborn compass, always taking you in the direction it points to. Love is a dancer, leading the way and not knowing if you can keep up.

Love must have been born in the winter. I tried to melt the snow off of love’s heart but it was frozen over and starting to spread. I picture love as a rumor. Like the Easter Bunny or Santa Clause. It sits on the top shelf watching everyone trying to climb over one another to reach it.

Love still hasn’t come back yet. I can only hope that i recognize it when it does.