Member-only story
Love Isn’t a Choice; It’s a Feeling
The biggest trap is thinking you can choose it
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I don’t remember when I stopped loving my first husband. Probably because I also don’t remember when I started loving him.
But I do remember telling myself I wanted to love him. It’s even written down.
On March 26, some+ years ago, I wrote in my ornate, silk-accented diary, I don’t know if I love him, but I do know that I want to.
Two months later, on May 13: Why don’t I love him yet? Maybe I do, and…no. If I did, I’d know it. I really do want to love him. So badly!
May 30: I want to love him! I want to love him! I want to love him! (This is actually written five times in the diary, not three.)
June 7: I still don’t know if I love him. I have a feeling that I will love him deeply, though.
That diary ends on June 7 because, I explained to myself on the final page, I wanted to switch to a notebook for the bigger pages that would inspire more writing. That notebook, if it ever existed, is long gone, so I don’t know how many more months it took me to write, I finally love him — or if I ever did.
