This is how I viewed love: not just as the most important thing, but as the singular narrative thread weaving through the tapestry of my life. It was a strange, almost clinical obsession, a need to have my identity mirrored and validated by the man who occupied my thoughts. When I looked at a photo of myself, I could pinpoint exactly which man had been the center of my universe at that moment. Each captured smile, each distant gaze was a timestamp of obsession.
