There is a terrible beauty to realizing you’re in love with someone. When the moment hits you, when you look at a person and think, “Dear God, I love this being,” you must sit and ask yourself, “but why?”. There is no good answer to the why question. You look, and you wonder, and you go home, and you lie in bed at night, and you think “What makes this person more special than any other?” and you are left without response. And you think for a moment that maybe you’re in love with everyone, and that everyone is as beautiful and complex and amazing and interesting and funny as this one individual. And you realize that they are, yet, with all of that, still there is this human who sits in front of you, who laughs at your jokes and makes fun of you, who thinks you’re a good person and never notices how you lose your mind in their eyes, and you wonder how you can think so much of them, and how they can see so little of you, and you just want to scream “BUT I’M RIGHT HERE!” but instead you smile, and wish them well on their next date with someone else, and you realize how sincere you are, because in the end, as long as they are happy, you can smile and find love again, despite that little scab on your soul that’s ripped open to bleed again every time they look away.