There’s no singular moment where I knew I loved Wayne. I did know Wayne was a good person when he gave me half of his sandwich the first time we hung out. I knew I liked being around him the first time one of us said something mean or petty about someone else we knew and we both agreed and laughed about it. I knew he was important to me when I started texting him whenever anything annoying happened at my shitty job and whenever I got any good news about the myriad other jobs I was applying to. I knew he was affectionate when he told me how incredibly cute he found Pomeranians and how his dream was to be an old man who walked his pom around the same park everyday. I knew he thought I was special too when he took me out to an expensive restaurant that had the kind of unique, interesting (weird and overly-complicated) food I like even though I knew he’d be just as happy with chicken tenders. I knew I wanted to be with him forever when, during the first 5 months of the pandemic, he was always kind, patient, and comforting to me while I was at the lowest and most hopeless time in my life. I never thought I would love someone as much as I love Wayne and I never thought I would be lucky enough to be loved so much by someone as amazing as he is.

We’ve given ourselves an impossible task, because only a fit of false memory, a bit of easy narration that separates life into discrete chapters, allows one to say exactly when they knew they were in love. Take Courtney. I know that I’ve loved Courtney for years now. In the four years we’ve known each other and been together, I’ve always had an affinity towards Courtney; it’s just that that liking grew gradually, and then exponentially. Maybe it was the first time Courtney made me laugh and I felt that Courtney was one of the funniest people I know. Possibly, it was when I realized how caring they are, how dedicated to their loved ones. Potentially, it was the first time I felt compelled to hold their hand in happiness. Conversely, maybe it was the first moment I held their hand to help them feel better, i.e., the first time I felt consciously protective of Courtney. I couldn’t say. Most likely, it was the first moment I felt the ineffable joy of being understood, and accepted, by another human being, being seen for who I am—warts and all—and feeling a comfort in that stark emotional nakedness. Who’s to say? I just know that a million joyful, playful, sorrowful, bright, dark, scintillating moments accreted and weighed on me until I was compelled—from my mind, body and soul—to say this: I’m madly in love with you, Courtney Magleby.