10/02/2026
Let’s count backwards.
Ten years ago, I really thought love was simple.
I was holding on to a crush from elementary school,
believing that waiting was loyalty,
that closing my heart meant I was being faithful
to a feeling that never even asked me to stay.
Nine years ago, someone I trusted confessed.
And just like that, the friendship changed.
College felt smaller.
Laughter felt forced.
Awkwardness sat between us,
quiet but heavy,
and nothing ever went back to the way it was.
Eight years ago, I fell in love for the first time.
Real love.
The kind that makes your chest feel too small.
Butterflies everywhere.
I said yes without fear,
days before graduation,
thinking love would grow with me into the future.
Seven years ago, I learned that love can end
even when you don’t want it to.
The loss didn’t feel loud—
it felt unreal.
Like floating.
Like walking through days that didn’t belong to me.
So I tried new things,
not because I was healed,
but because I didn’t know how else to survive.
Six years ago, I found comfort.
A quiet love.
Someone who listened.
Someone who felt safe.
Flowers arrived, and with them a question
I was too afraid to answer:
Is this love, or am I just tired of being alone?
Five years ago, I argued with myself constantly.
Heart versus mind.
Was I choosing him,
or was I choosing not to feel lonely
in a world locked down by fear and silence?
Some nights, I already knew the answer.
I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
Four years ago, I finally let go.
It hurt—but it also felt honest.
Then, without trying, I found him.
It started as friendship.
Then confusion.
Then chaos.
We pushed each other away so many times,
yet somehow, we always came back.
Choosing each other was never easy
but it was always intentional.
Three years ago, my prayers were answered.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just… gently.
A love so pure it scared me.
A love I didn’t think I deserved,
but was given anyway.
Two years ago, my heart learned a new shape.
I held love in my arms—small, fragile, real.
I watched her grow,
took responsibility for guiding a life,
and realized love is no longer about butterflies—
it’s about staying.
Last year, I loved again
and then I lost.
Too soon.
Too painful.
Grief followed me into bathrooms,
into quiet moments,
into every memory that refused to let go.
I cried where no one could see
because the pain was too heavy to explain.
A few months ago, I stood at the altar
and chose a lifetime.
I married the man I love—
the father of my child,
and of the life that was taken inside of me.
For the first time, love felt like home,
not uncertainty.
This year, I am choosing myself, too.
Learning to love the woman who survived
every version of heartbreak,
every wrong timing,
every lesson that hurt.
At every crossroads, I walk forward knowing
those ten years didn’t ruin me—
they made me stronger,
more honest,
and capable of loving deeply without losing myself.
📝RGPJ-R writes
📸 EJ Stories
