I met and fell in love with E—my first and only love—fifteen years ago when I was just a kid, really. I barely knew a thing when I met him, but I knew I wanted to be with him. October 16 is the anniversary of the day we made our being together official. That was the night I knew I had fallen in love. The night there was no going back. From there, we swiftly began a committed relationship, so swift, in fact, that I once surprised him while he was out with his friends by moving all my stuff into his dorm room. (He says he wanted me to, let’s hope.) I came home for my first winter break with my new boyfriend in tow and said he’d be staying the month. My family, of course, fell in love with him too.
I’ve been saying it’s so crazy to still be in love with the same person after fifteen years, but that just sounds like the thing to say. What would be crazy is loving someone else. Being with him is exactly right. The only other thing I’ve felt completely solidly perfectly sure of is my lifelong dream to be a writer. Times are tough right now in so many other ways, to the point where I do not know what to do… But I still have E. I had fifteen years with him and I’ll hope for fifteen, thirty, a hundred more. How can I be so sure? Well, let me put it this way: I just know.