Some people say that love takes time. I often wonder why people find that statement to be true, but of course I can understand why. Yet I still wonder. In reality, it is not about the time added up on the calendar, it is about the time that you feel is right in your heart.
Now, you are probably reading this thinking, "Oh god, not another teenage bullshit love story." Well, sorry to burst your bubble, it is. Minus the bullshit. This is a love story, explaining why I—the not-so-great writer—believes that love, in fact, does not take time. Not for everyone.
My story is about a rebellious teenage girl who fell in love with this rebellious teenage boy, and still to this day could not be any more in love. It was the summer of 2014, school was almost out for the summer, and boy was I ready! I was only 16, ending my sophomore year of high school. I had sort of made friends with a girl through mutual friends on Facebook, she introduced me to this boy she had known and had a bit of a crush on for quite some time; the issue was, the boy didn't like her back... she was a nutcase. He did, though, find something intriguing about me.
We talked, A LOT. We talked while I was testing in math class, when we weren't supposed to be using our phones. I also sucked at math and I still do; I already knew I wasn't getting the best grade on this test, so I decided it wouldn't hurt to talk to him. It was fun. We messaged all day and all night and when the next day started we talked some more. A week or two had passed, and there was only one week of school left. My parents were planning on a trip to Idaho in the middle of June. I was going to have the house to myself (and my brother of course). The boy—Levi—seemed to be the first to message me each time, and eventually he asked for my number.
School is out, finally! It seemed like an excruciatingly long week. My parents were hitting the road the next morning at, like, 4 AM. As the time passed, I went to hang out with my old friend, though she was needy and bitchy. *Buzz* You have a message from: Levi. Super excited. "Hey what's up?" So I replied telling him what was up. We continued talking and at that point it's more like we were flirting. I was starting to crush on this guy I hadn't even met yet, but goodness I am glad I did. I informed him my parents were going on vacation; of course I had to take advantage of that like most teens would.
The next morning I woke up to a message: "Hey chunky monkey want some breakfast from McDonald's? My face lit up like fireflies in a field on a clear, dark night. He gave me a nickname and from then on out he continued to call me his chunky monkey. I replied with a yes, but of course it was impossible, he lived 45 minutes away and didn't drive (legally) yet. We did, though, plan a time for him to visit. So he came over two days later, a bag full of clothes. When I got that call from him saying he was there, it was like my stomach had a small avalanche. He came to my door, I took a deep breath, and opened it. Queue that awkward first hello moment.
I let him in and we chilled in silence for maybe three minutes, then we started to talk. I was so damn nervous. I sat on the couch and so he sat next to me... close, not too close, but close enough to say "I like you so." I got nervous, so I stood up and moved to the bar in the kitchen. He asked what I wanted to do. I wasn't sure yet, so I led him to my room to put his things down. And then we went back to the living room and began to talk. It was nice, just sitting there talking, finally in person. We ended up going to the park and walked on the trail in the forest. During that walk he grabbed my hand. I swear my palm started sweating like Niagara falls. I was happy. He was happy.
We spent three days and two nights together. On the second night I kissed him. It was terrifying but I really, really liked him and so I just kissed him. On day three my mom had called asking what's been going on. She was suspicious. I lied, of course, but told partial truth that I was walking to the store with my brother. For some reason she got mad about that. She said they would be home later that night, so later that evening Levi had to go. I was so sad. I was also aware I was doing something I wasn't supposed to. It was day three. We hugged, like a mega-giant bear hug, and I told him I love him. He told me he loves me, too.
After my parents got back and found out, I was grounded for a month. I got off easy. Still, it took a while to gain back their trust. Through that month he waited for me to message him or call him even though I wasn't supposed to be using the phone or Facebook. We talked as if I had nothing to worry about, as if I weren't grounded. That month was long but it wasn't bad. Honestly, I had worse. I got to see him and it was a great feeling. During that month of being grounded I realized that not only did I love him but I was in love with him. Thinking that made my heart melt, telling him made it explode. His did too. With Levi it took almost no time at all to fall in love, yet if I told this story to someone face-to-face they would ask 'how did you love him?' followed by 'you hardly knew him.' Nowhere in this story did I mention how well I knew him. I just gave a short time frame of how long we talked. It took only two days to love him. Just two. It took two weeks to fall in love.
If you're one to think love takes time, and if you fall to fast the love won't last, you are wrong. It just takes the right soul to come along and match yours. We are pushing four years together. I still love him, I love him more than words can explain, and it took hardly any time at all. I'm sitting by his side while he looks up parts about his truck. In another four years, I'll be sitting by his side waiting for the next four years.
Love is not measured by time. I actually don't know what it is measured by, but time is not it.