Her lips were plump and red like a crisp apple, her skin the color or caramel. She smelled of Lilac and Vanilla, tasted of cinnamon and cream. She was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking.

And she didn’t want me, because I was a man. She didn’t want any man.

“I think it’s for the best… I don’t even think you know anything about me…” she stated gently. She placed her hand on mine.

“I know everything about you! I love you!” I pulled my hand away.

“What’s my favorite color?” She asked, her brow furrowed.

“… magenta.”

“Yellow… my favorite color has been yellow since I was 12.” Her eyes showed pain and hope. “When is my birthday?”

“August 14th,” I stated confidently.

“February 22nd,” she said softly.

My head spun, how is this right? I love her! I’ve always loved her. How could I not be in love with he-

“I think…” her words snapped me out of my trance, “that you love the idea of me.” She smiled softly. “I think you need to take some time for yourself, before you can ever be in love. How are you supposed to love someone if you don’t first love yourself?”

Her question swirled in my mind.

Was I living a lie?

“Sometimes… we fall in love with the idea of someone, but not the person themselves.”