At twenty years old, I thought that I had lost the love of my life. I spiraled into a treacherous depression for months. I didn’t think I would ever recover. But I did. Through prayers and my faith in God, I completely rebuilt my life. I was able to come out a stronger and better person.
Even though I put all of the pieces back together, I kind of stopped believing in love. I didn’t become a bitter cynic that rolled her eyes and yelled at every couple I saw. I didn’t tell the five year old boy playfully talking about his “girlfriend” that love was just a delusional fantasy. But the hopeless romantic in me become more hopeless than romantic.
I have always been the girl that has loved too much. I would love the life right out of someone. I would constantly fight to keep whatever relationship I was in alive. But I wanted to be swooned. I wanted to find a hidden love letter to me. I wanted someone to surprise me with flowers and my favorite candy. I wanted someone to take me to the movies. I wanted someone to open the car door for me.
I stopped believing that this kind of love could exist. I thought I had found pure joy in my life. And I did to an extent. I was content with the college I was going to, the major I was studying, the job I had, and the few friends I had. But I stopped watching movies. I stopped reading. I stopped writing. Three things that I loved most in this world.
Until one morning, I checked my student email and had an unread message from someone that I didn’t know. I assumed it was just spam that had found its way into my inbox, and I was about to delete it when I had the sudden urge to open it anyway. It was from a boy in a different state. He had come across something that I wrote months ago. He was telling me how much my words helped him and how beautiful they were. I was completely shocked. He asked for a response in some capacity, so of course I wanted to respond, I just didn’t know how.
I told him how blessed I felt from his kind words, and what he sent back to that is the reason I am writing this. He pretty much told me how broken he had been about his ex-girlfriend breaking up with him, and how he connected with what I had to say. He seemed like one of those guys that everyone wants to know and be friends with because being in the same room as him could make everything okay again.
He inspired me to write again. Something I could honestly never imagine myself doing anymore. He reawakened my dreams to live a full life. Not just a monotonous life filled with simple contentment. He made me believe in love again. That there are guys out there that lay awake at night aching from the loss of a loved one. And that those guys love people too much, too.
I hope one day he stumbles across this, and I hope when he does that he knows I’m talking about him. I will forever be grateful for what he did for me. We agreed that if we were to ever be in each other’s home states that we would have to meet up. I hope one day this happens, so I can meet the guy that changed my cynical mind and thank him.
So, this wasn’t a story about how I fell in love with my soulmate I met in a miraculous way just when I was about to completely give up (sorry). I just wish people could realize how short life is, and that we need hopeless romantics. We have enough jaded and cynics in the world. We need more people to believe that love that we see in movies and read in books really does exist.
Believe in love. Believe that you can do the impossible. Believe that you are great. Embrace that fact that you were made by a grand God who gives you unconditional love and grace for free. Embrace the fact that if you don’t like your life, you can change it. So love with every ounce of your being, and live your life in a way that you can be proud of. Take chances.
I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. The universe takes people out of your life for a reason, and it puts people in for a reason. The universe decided it was time for both of us to start living again. And I mean really living.