When I was 16, there was a night when I sat in my parents' living room, gripping a pillow and thinking about how the adults in my life reminded kids my age that we weren't capable of real love, that it's just hormones and infatuation; we were too young to feel the depth and scope of such a mature and moving force, and I thought, they're probably right, but if they aren't... well, I wouldn't exactly be shocked.
A few hours later, Josh ran up my driveway, picked me up and told me how long he had wanted nothing more than to kiss me, and then he kissed me; it was dark but we could see just fine and in a moment I would permanently lose the need to prove anything to anyone. The adults weren't right on this one, and I could have told them, but how on earth would I even begin to explain what real love feels like at 16 years old to people who don't believe it's possible?
Fortunately, when you know something is real, you don't need anyone to agree with you; there is nothing to prove when you can see it standing right in front of you, when it is holding you in its arms with its own strength. I hoped that they would be able to see it one day -- not for the thrill of proving them wrong, but for the purpose of sharing the thing that changed every part of me so significantly, it changed the way I experienced everything that happened after it. It's something people tend to want to share with others.
For a decade, it's been confined to my journal and my closest friends; in that time, I've learned more about patience than I ever thought possible. And in a week, it gets to take up all the space it deserves.
It's kind of like Christmas morning, except the tree doesn't come down afterwards -- it just keeps growing.
A few hours later, Josh ran up my driveway, picked me up and told me how long he had wanted nothing more than to kiss me, and then he kissed me; it was dark but we could see just fine and in a moment I would permanently lose the need to prove anything to anyone. The adults weren't right on this one, and I could have told them, but how on earth would I even begin to explain what real love feels like at 16 years old to people who don't believe it's possible?
Fortunately, when you know something is real, you don't need anyone to agree with you; there is nothing to prove when you can see it standing right in front of you, when it is holding you in its arms with its own strength. I hoped that they would be able to see it one day -- not for the thrill of proving them wrong, but for the purpose of sharing the thing that changed every part of me so significantly, it changed the way I experienced everything that happened after it. It's something people tend to want to share with others.
For a decade, it's been confined to my journal and my closest friends; in that time, I've learned more about patience than I ever thought possible. And in a week, it gets to take up all the space it deserves.
It's kind of like Christmas morning, except the tree doesn't come down afterwards -- it just keeps growing.
