He came out of nowhere one day, offered me ice cream in one hand, and the future of us in the other. I said yes, of course. I mean, who says no to ice cream?
He loved me through hysterical laughter, through tears-in-our-eyes, couldn’t-breathe-anymore type of laughter I’ve never felt before.
And he loved me in between my sobs. When he said one day that he couldn’t be seen with me in public because people wouldn’t understand. Because people believe in black and white and we walked the streets in full color.
He loved me through pregnant silences more deafening than any amount of screaming. He loved me through pointless fights and senseless arguments.
He loved me even after calling me ugly, when I cut my hair so short he said he almost didn’t recognize me. He loved me through one slap after another, until my cheeks burned bright red, the same shade of red they turned into when I first heard him say, “I love you.”
And he loved the demons inside me, the ones he said he couldn’t get a grip on, the ones he said were eating me whole.
I know he did these things because he loved me. I’m sure of it.
Because didn’t they say that sometimes you hurt the ones you love? So he must have loved me a lot. He must have loved me too much.