Tonight someone told me it was love. I had described what I felt toward her, and he said it was love. But that it was a childish love. A love that was written out in stories. It was not truly a romantic love. It was the love of someone who had given up in life. It was the love of someone who wanted others to find the happiness that he could not. A love of a man who said “fuck it” and just went with whatever came his way. That’s the love I feel. That’s the love I described. I said I wanted her to live well. I said I wanted her to smile. I said that I couldn’t be a part of that. And that was childish love. I don’t want believe loving someone so much that you can’t be a part of their life is childish, but that’s what I was told. I was told I was in love, and that it was a childish love.