“I pray you do not fall in love with me. For I am falser than vows made in wine.” I read this quote from a book written by Shakespeare.

Oddly enough, it stuck with me.

I noticed from a young age, I took pride only when love came in the form of reverence.

I liked them raw and vulnerable, their bleeding heart torn from their chest and handed to me in a silver platter.

That to me, was love.

Though even then, I wouldn’t be satisfied. The ache and hollowness in my heart would...