We met each other at an especially vulnerable time. Their father had just died of a prolonged illness that summer and my mother was in the process of dying of a prolonged illness (she lasted until early the next year). We kind of latched onto each other in a really unhealthy codependent way, though we were both way too young to realize it.

I thought I was in love with them and I think they thought they were in love with me. But really we just were looking for something we'd lost and found it in each other. A relationship can't survive off that alone, especially not after a few years have passed, the grief has settled and you've both impulse-moved in a place only to discover it's a whole lot harder to "love" a person when you're living with them and have an up-close view to all the ugly little things you don't have to see when you live apart.

Love's an easy word to say. We said it to each other dozens of times. But it's usually something less flattering in reality and we just call it love because love feels better and sounds better.