The first time someone told me she loved me for who I was, after my break, before I decided to leave everything and everyone, I cried. And I really wanted to believe her.

She, a French exchange student, became the first woman I loved. We had a whirlwind courtship where we spent all our time together from the moment we met, talked about everything under the sun, and never kissed. Why we never actually kissed is a mystery to me, but it didn't seem necessary. We knew how we felt about each other, we knew it was more than your average friendship.

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