But it’s hard to recognize love and all its forms when you’ve never seen it before. I was so sure that there was only one kind of “real love,” and that real love would be some big dramatic, storybook moment, a sudden flare of passion that would make itself known. What if it wasn’t that at all? What if love was a patient thing that simply stood at your side, offering you a hand? What if it was all the best of friendships—a partnership, a promise to face the unfeeling world and all its follies together? Or simply the quiet, intimate details of a person, like how their lips part when they sleep,
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