There were a million boys that I thought were cute, but I didn’t know what love was until I looked at her and wanted to propose at the beach and live in Chicago. I didn’t know what love was until I had daydreams of her mother teaching me how to cook Turkish food, or until I tried to impress her by cooking grilled cheese. I didn’t know what love was until I saw her wearing my jacket while we danced at the park. I didn’t know what love was until someone called us fags and for the first time, I understood all those movies where the guy calls someone “my girl” and punches someone else in the face. I didn’t know what love was until I held her hand while she came out to her mother over the phone in a parking lot. I didn’t know what love was until we went to our first pride together and we realized we were going to be okay. I didn’t know what love was until I heard those three words from her lips. But once I finally figured it out, it was beautiful. Despite what anyone said, it was beautiful.