Watching him now, I’d be a fool to doubt he loved me, at least as best friends. What else would explain how much he cared, how he was always there for me? How he was the only consistent thing in my life that made sense? 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.
