Recalling those high school days when all that swirled in my head was the thrill and warmth of being loved, I always considered myself as one who'd love someone like waves crashing onto a beaten shore. I thought I was a person who loved with such unrelenting force, blinding myself to whatever mistakes or flaws a person had so long as they loved me back. It didn't matter that I was broken. It didn't matter that I didn't understand what it meant to love an equally imperfect person. So long as my own personal love meter was above average, I believe I could give love and all that came with the package. Fast forward to this hour of the day when everyone's asleep, I'm writing off that older, delusional version of myself. She's . . .