I left my heart on the Tel Aviv beach on a windy night in June. But I want to be clear. I wasn’t in love with a person. At least I think I wasn’t in love with a person. I was in love with an idea. Even though leaving someone behind is a horrible emotion to feel, I have always been kind of fascinated with it. Knowing that for at least one person the memory of my face, our conversations, and me is the most important thing for them is an appealing idea. I have never really left someone behind, but I guess this was the closest I have ever been to that situation. He left that night because he got too emotional and I left because I had a plane to catch.

I’m pretty sure I was in love once. This love was towards a person. I was happy for a short period of time, but both of our problems got in the way. He couldn’t commit, and I couldn’t let go. In retrospect, he taught me something important about myself; I never learned how to accept the love that is given to me by others. The result of this was pushing people away for a long time, without realizing the reasoning. I became detached from my emotions towards others, not caring how my actions affected their feelings. I didn’t want to open myself up to anyone, because I thought loving someone could only lead to getting hurt. But I have slowly tried to re-learn how to accept the love I receive. Whether it is from my family, my friends, myself, or from someone who loves me in a romantic way. I will probably spend most of my life trying to re-teach myself how to love.