Growing up, I had a totally twisted view of intimacy. I imagined falling in love as the whirlwind of meeting someone new, the fireworks of your first kiss, the thrill of getting to know each other, and the electric nausea of saying “I love you” for the first time. But now that I’ve been in a relationship, I realize those moments aren’t love at all. Love—actual love—is made up of a million “unromantic” milestones, like the first time you ask the other to pop that pimple on your back, or when you debate for days over what color bedsheets to buy. Love isn’t the first time your eyes meet across
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