It felt as though my heart was going to explode with joy.
She loved me. She told me she loved me. I had already fallen in love with her, but I was terrified that maybe she might not love me in return. And then came those magical words.
“I love you, David.”
As long as she loved me, nothing else mattered. We could overcome any problem. I could climb any mountain that our relationship required me to climb. I could be whatever I needed to be. The world changed in that moment — all because she loved me.
We loved each other deeply. We said the words — both aloud and in writing — all the time. (What you see above is a screenshot of her very own keystrokes from an email I still have. I still have all of them.) We expressed the feelings to one another in ways that made the world seem alive and magical. The world was bright and loving and perfect, all because she loved me and I loved her.
Until everything changed. My heart was broken and bruised. So was hers. But why?

If you’re sure what’s important, everything else seems trivial
Loving a depressed person means holding tightly on trips through hell
We know our world must change, but we keep saying, ‘yes, but…’
End of life brought cancer patient to baptism six days before death
Advice to fast food restaurant execs: stop ‘innovating,’ do the basics right
It can take a lifetime of work to overcome abusive ‘programming’
Death of classmate from past feels like a reminder to change my life
We don’t know how to love until we learn to set our egos aside
Practically and legally, it’s true: Good fences make good neighbors