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Who I loved was a senior in college.

I was a first-year.

Let’s do the math on how far away our mentalities were in this reality.

I had found myself lingering in the library a lot during my early freshman year. I was feeling lonely having just moved out of my parents’ home and to a new city with no friends and no clue as to what I was doing. The library always kept me safe because no matter which city I would go to there would always be books filled with pages unread by me.

In my freshman year, I would scurry on to the library after each of my classes with my head down and several notebooks pressed against my chest to avoid attention. It worked for the most part. I was never bothered when I was reading passages out of Homer’s ‘The Odyssey’ or when I was trying to determine whether or not I believed aliens were real.

At least not for the first month.

Then he came along.

He had found me writing small notes in one of the philosophy books and so he whispered in my ear: “I’m certain you’re going to have to keep that book forever now.”

I swear, I jumped several feet off of the cushioned seat before placing a hand over my mouth and another over my heart. Shaken, I turned to meet eyes with one of the most handsome men I’d ever witnessed in person. Him being attractive didn’t exactly help my heart.

He chuckled at my startled expression and gave my cheek a soft pinch.

That would be the beginning of something new and exciting within me and the fantasy that I made of him.

For weeks he and I would reside in the library, sitting side-by-side to each other and simply reading or studying. It was everyday at 10 p.m. when classes had subsided, and the building would be silent. There was never the buzzing of people whispering or chattering or the constant flipping of pages or random coughs or sneezes. It was totally silent.

And during those quiet moments, I would let my mind wander.

To a time where he and I could slide our hands across the soft carpeting and lace fingers together.

To a further time where he would slip his arm around me and hold me close to him.

To an even further time where he would leave a kiss lingering on my lips.

To a distant time where he would shyly ask me to be his.

But, unfortunately like with every fantasy, reality set in.

He let me down gently.

He knew how fragile an 18 year old girl’s heart was. He understood what it was like to feel lonely and simply craving affection. He knew it all it seemed from the countless times we spent together in the library.

But even so, the reality didn’t hinder the fantasy man I’d fallen for.

Because he had the best heart, and the greatest spirit; just like I’d dreamed.

Even after his rejection, though, there were times that I thought he may have felt something for the awkward first year girl just trying to find her way through.

Who I loved was that fantasy that maybe, just maybe, would love me back.

Who I loved, was love.

Who I loved?