Love is Like

“I love you.”
My head readjusts against the headboard as my girlfriend of two months says these
words to me. Love me? How could she love me? I didn’t know that privately hooking up
equates to love. Maybe I just don’t understand the concept yet, but I don’t think I feel “it,”
that magical innate sparkle you’re miraculously supposed to know, but no one explicitly tells
you what it feels like.
Goosebumps engross the entirety of my naked body, acting as tiny buffers between
me and reality. I try to find any object in the room to change the subject with. The fan
skipping half a beat, resemblent of my heart. The sage green ring I got her that sits in her
catch all. Finally, my eyes rest on the picture of her and her mother on the bedside table. A
tinge of jealousy pulses down my spine.
Why couldn’t I have that relationship with my parents? A normal relationship. They
made me this way. I mean, my parents loved each other too, but I still had to turn the TV up
to ten every night.
I don’t love her at all, but maybe I do. I can’t tell if this disdain I feel is internalized
homophobia or because it truly feels wrong. I’ve never been in love with a man, much less a
girl. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to feel. I just feel like I have no one to show me
the ropes. No one good at least.
I mean there’s an entire book of standards to let you know if a guy is in love with you,
but a girl? Forget about it. If a guy loves you, he will open the door for you, actually talk to
you and will accept you for who you are. With girls, that’s fucking obvious. Girls don’t do
that shit, or at least, healthy ones. They automatically treat you like their best friend that
they’ve known forever. The standard of love for men is so low that I don’t even know what
any real standards are.
I need a how-to guide on how to do this, but no one gives a fuck about lesbians. We
are constantly stereotyped as either butch or the quirky weird girls. We are just now getting a
wave of sapphic rom-coms, and the only person to play our love interest is Kristen Stewart.
Fucking Kristen Stewart.
 No movies with a formula to follow. Straight couples get so many paths to replicate
while we can’t even get one where we are remotely happy in our relationship or take the
whole movie to even figure out we are gay.
If my life were a movie, I would have had an animated heart burst out of my chest the
minute she confessed her love for me.
In reality, I can’t think of one time where I felt that zing! That instant connection.
That moment where you just know. Maybe it’s because all of our “dates” look exactly the
same. Late night text. Always from her, begging me to come over. Being the ovarian-less gal I
am, I always say: Be there in five.
But there was that one time where she wiped my tears when I told her I wasn’t in the
mood. I thought she’d kick me out, but instead she held me. Secretly, I was relieved because
deep down, I think I wanted to stay.
I just don’t understand any of this. My parents constantly tell me how wrong all of
“this” is, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I just like the companionship. Maybe we are just
friends, and I’m too dumb to notice. Yeah. That must be right. I’ve convinced myself into
thinking we are more than friends. How do I let her down gently? There has to be a good
way, right?
Okay, so I want to take it back. Simple. Just say, “Oh, I don’t actually like you like that.
So let’s break up, but can I still come over because you already know I’m too scared to let you
come over to my place?”
Oh who the fuck am I kidding? Look where I’m laying, butt ass naked right now.
I can’t do that to her. I can’t spend an intimate moment with someone and then
fucking break up with them. I may not love her, but that doesn’t make me a monster.
I can just chalk this whole thing up to internalized homophobia. Yeah that’s it. I just
don’t feel comfortable admitting my true feelings because society makes me feel icky about
liking a girl like this.
So, I do love her, but I just feel like I can’t? That sounds about right. Even if I don’t
feel that tingle in my stomach or I don’t get that twinkle in my eye every time we are
together, that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. And so what if it’s only two months. That’s like
two years in lesbian time. Lesbians are a hot commodity. If I let her go, who knows how long
I might be alone?
I can’t feel like that again, so I have to make this work. I must turn my like to love. I
have to. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose having someone there for me. It will destroy me.
With as much strength as I can, I muster up a cheesy smile and rest my head against
hers. My voice, barely a whisper.
“I love you too.”