The Journal Entries

7 January, 2012 2125PM

Love.

I have been thinking about that word all day. What does that even mean? I feel like people throw that word around a little too loosely nowadays. I’m not saying I did, but it’s disheartening how much I hear people say it. When I was young, I hardly ever heard the word leave someone’s lips unless it was from my parents or my brother.

I really did love Oliver.

Do.

I really do love Oliver.

I thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the floor, watching him and his brother Tom play FIFA on the Xbox. I always had a blast when he took me to local concerts where his mates were playing. I adored the huge smile he used to get when I would kiss him on the nose or hold his hand.

I love his eyes, I love his sense of humour, and I love his way of making me feel okay when I’m not. I love him.

I was walking down the street after work yesterday, and I had been following this young couple for a few blocks by the time I got close enough to hear what they were saying to each other. They were no more than fifteen years old, and both of them wore braces. They discussed their plans for the next evening, laughing with each other, and planning out how they were going to tell their friends that they were dating.

So they had obviously just begun dating. Apparently that was a big deal to them.

Anyways, they held hands and sweet-talked each other for a couple more blocks and finally stopped in front of a rather large townhouse with humongous windows. The boy politely pecked the girl on the cheek, and she responded with… Wait for it…

“I love you.”

I almost stopped dead in my goddamn tracks. Are you fucking kidding me? I was even more appalled when the boy smiled and said, “I love you too, babe.”

I mean, I can’t even deal with this. I just can’t do it. Oliver didn’t tell me he loved me until we had dated for nearly six months, and even then I was terrified to say it back because I wasn’t sure if I really did love him yet.

If I’m going to stop being so angry with Oliver, I’m going to have to stop comparing every guy in the world to him. I realize that, and I’m making a conscious effort to stop it. But just to make myself feel a little better about it, I’m going to throw in the fact that we were together for three years and it’s not that easy to stop comparing everyone’s relationships to ours. So fuck you. Or me. Whoever is reading this, even though I told you to stop reading this unless you’re me.

I have to go to bed.

x,
Carlie