It’s funny that the loves we remember are so often the ones we have when we are young. Maybe that’s when we know most what we want in a person, before we start to worry about what we’re supposed to want; before we start worrying whether they can support us, or afford a nice car or house; before any of those things matter. Maybe the loves that last are the ones where you believe that love is all you need.

Once there was a man in my life that I could talk to about anything, anytime, for hours on end. So far, he has been the only one I could ever talk to like that. It never mattered what we talked about; we always found conversations with each other to be interesting.

I know now how rare that is; I wish I’d known it then. Instead, I foolishly took it for granted that there would always be another like him. I was wrong.

My son is sure that the girl he is dating now is the one he wants to be with forever. I haven’t discouraged him, because there’s always the chance that he could have found that “one” person for him. There’s no way for me to know. He’s about the same age I was way back then. Maybe he’s old enough to know what he wants, and still young enough to be right.