He was the kind of guy that made sure you were never alone. He stayed up until 3am telling me how much he could help me, how he could make everything better. At first I thought it was love, but his love wasn’t beautiful or caring or passionate. Well, I guess it was passionate; the kind of passion that made you dizzy and absorbed all of your energy like a bloated sponge. It was the kind of love that filled your heart the way a bag of Airheads filled your stomach. It was a love that whispered in your ear words noone else heard: “You need me. I’ll never leave you. Never, as long as you follow my rules”. I hated his rules, but at least he was reliable. He would be there as long as I followed his rules. Only, his rules multiplied. As long as I sat still, stayed as quiet as possible, and never went anywhere without him, he’d never leave me.
He loved me at a time when love meant posting the perfect picture of a kiss with a witty caption that took hours to write and three filters for a hundred friends twice removed to like and naively comment, “Relationship goals.” It was a love that forbid me from seeing the world, and God forbid I try to touch it. Apparently the earth was too malleable and fragile, and I too brash. It was the kind of love that made everything else seem trivial. As long as I had him, I had purpose, a purpose that was once my lifeline.