Love the one you're with

I think our breakup was about timing more than anything else. We were too young.

We weren't that young.

Young enough. I wasn't ready for...this, he says, motioning in the space between us, finally admitting the obvious-that it was him, not me. He broke up with me.

I nod, as if I understand his assessment, even though I really don't. Yes, we were young, but in some ways, young love seems the most robust and idealistic, untarnished by everyday hardships. Leo threw inthe towel before we were ever really tested. Maybe because he didn't want to be tested. Maybe because he assumed we would fail. Maybe because, at the time, he just didn't love me enough.

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It's not about what might have been. And it's not about whether I have genuine feelings for Leo now, underneath the layers of nostalgia, lust, unrequited love. It's really not about Leo at all.

It's about Andy, plainly, simply.

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Sometimes there are no happy endings. No matter what, I'll be losing something, someone. But maybe that's what it all comes down to. Love, not a surge of passion, but as a choice to commit to something, someone, no matter what obstacles or temptations stand in the way. And maybe making that choice, again and again, day in and day out year after year, says more about love than never having a choice to make at all.