When most people talk about love, they speak of a song that filled their heart, a look that changed their life, or a person who appeared at just the right time. It sounds like a religious man yammering on about faith and god. It’s all wonder and awe, and once you’ve experienced it, you know it!

I don’t know why I’m the only one who feels different. For me, love was a torrent of raw, relentless emotion, hot as molten lava, and cold as the water of an ice-covered lake that swept me up in its path. It was a chaotic combination of need, manic joy, pain, and the darkest depression I’ve ever known. Even now speaking her name is difficult, and brings up profound feelings of disappointment.

Does anybody else’s love story contain them crying like a baby and shouting, “Why? I just don’t understand!” Or leaving dozens of messages proclaiming undying love forever.

What makes this a love story, you ask? The answer is simple, because I loved her.

I still do.

And I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world.