Love is good

I have always been a lover of love stories. When I was younger, I devoured books, and that's how I discovered the Harlequin collection. Oh my goodness, I could finish one in a single day. They were full of intrigue, twists and second chances, and I couldn't get enough. I think those little paperbacks taught me to believe in big, dramatic love. It was at the beginning of my twenties that I started to notice men, and that's when my own love story began. I met him at Disneyland Paris. He wasn't tall, and he was from Laos. He appeared in my life just as I was becoming curious about the Asian community, and I can only call it synchronicity, or maybe manifestation. He was kind and romantic. He would bring me flowers when he picked me up from my BTS classes. He was as intense as I am, and because he'd had a difficult life, all the love he never received he poured into me. I was his oxygen, his safe place. It was with him that I learnt how easily a beautiful love story can be damaged when other people's jealousy gets involved, and how sometimes you're asked to choose between love and friendship. Not every love story is meant to last. Some are there to teach us something. The funny part is that I still get along well with his family. I was even invited to his sisters' weddings. Lately he has reached out, but I intend to leave the past where it is. That, too, is a way of letting it go.