A Love to Live For
“Sometimes we come into a person’s life not to make them love us, but to let them feel that they’re so much worth loving for.” – Unknown.
“De.pres.sion (noun) Psychiatry. : A condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason.” I winced, as the deep pain within my chest grew deeper. I read the definition once more: Depression. I had never, in my 17 years of living, felt such a profound connection to a simple grouping of syllables such as this. Clinically speaking, I’m depressed . Emotionally, I’m numb. Mentally, I’m empty. Physically, I’m weak. Psychologically, I’m far past broken. I’m what my mother calls a ‘work in progress’, which roughly translates to ‘my severely depressed excuse for a daughter.’ I’ve never been one to feel happiness. This darkness has left me bone dry: I am an empty, useless body wasting oxygen each day. Nothing can relieve me of my sadness. I’ve spent the majority of my life in bed, escaping the day to day monotony for a dreamy serenity that deceives me into believing everything will be okay. I’m aching so badly to feel, to love, to breathe. I just want to feel again. Is that too much to ask?
I closed the dictionary, and slung my bag onto my shoulders. It was a Monday, after all. I needed to get to school. Mom ended up taking me, as usual. She does her best to cheer me up, and make me smile whenever she can. It hurts me to see her face fall each day when I return her light conversation with silence, but I can’t help it; it’s what I’ve always done. My morning passed in the typical blur of colorless conversation and artificial smiles, but once I reached English class, I noticed a change of pace. There was a new student, specifically a boy, sitting in the seat beside me. I froze. Not only had I sat alone all year, I had never spoken a word to any of my classmates. I sat down in my chair, and lay my cheek into my hand, avoiding eye contact. He turned to me, and I couldn’t help but steal a glance. My composure melted like ice under a sultry sun. His offered me a sweet smile and said, “I’m Marcus.” His eyes were a deep shade of cerulean blue, and his instant warmth dripped into my heart like warm honey. “I’m Christine…” I muttered, turning away and leaving his gaze. He managed to steal it back as he coyly asked to himself, “How did I get so lucky to have such a beautiful girl sitting beside me?”
You’d better believe I ran out of that room as fast as I could the second the bell rang. My cheeks were burning something fierce for the rest of the evening. I couldn’t get my mind off of his smile; his sweet, honest, genuine smile. There was something about him that reached me in a way I can’t quite put into words. I had convinced myself to let go of wishing for somebody to reach me. I went to bed that night with something inside of me I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. I felt a flurry of hope for humanity. Sometimes, as humans, we forget the simply beauty of emotion. I never have. I awoke the next morning to sunshine pouring through my bedroom window. The tender warmth reminded me of Marcus’ smile. The corner of my lips broke into a shy grin. He claims that I’m beautiful… When the afternoon came around, I found myself once again sitting beside the boy who had found my lost smile.
Day by day, I found myself wishing more and more to be with Marcus, for he had reached out to a damaged girl and offered to heal her. Not with prescribed medications, or counseling. Not by becoming frustrated or impatient with my silence. No, he did not look at me
like I needed to be fixed… He looked at me like I had purpose. We spent each class period talking, exchanging trust and honesty beneath words. He was teaching me to open up. We spent our lunch outside, playing like children on the swings nearby. He was teaching me to let go of my worries. We said our goodbyes each day with a simple, “Until tomorrow,” for the two of us knew we’d be counting down minutes until we met again. He was teaching me to hope for the future.

I have admired with patience the vibrant leaves of fall cascade from the trees, the sparkling snow of winter descend from the perpetual grey of the sky, and the delicate yellow roses abloom in the spring, all with Marcus by my side. With each passing day, I come to recognize more and more just how much he has given me. It isn’t simply his love letters of September, or wrapped presents at Christmas, and it most certainly isn’t my first kiss in the afterglow of a warm April day. It is the way he smiles at me through sips of hot coffee each morning, the strength of his hand enlaced in mine on our walks home from school, and the way he confessed his love for me on the night of my 18th birthday. He has reached the depths of my heart I never thought existed, and replaced the empty space with devotion .
I find myself lying beneath the cover of night upon a red checkered picnic blanket with Marcus at my side, grace in my heart, and sunflowers in my hair. The chorus of cicadas drowned out all thoughts, leaving me silent and speechless. The bittersweet ending of high school has brought a rather sweet start to what will hopefully be a gloriously long summer. College is creeping up on us, its talons ready to strike at any given moment, but I’m free of my troubles. Right now, all I need is this moment. My heart has grown full of a deep, honest love. I have been given a love to live for. I have been found. I have been set free. “Marcus?” I voice, shifting my body towards his. “Thank you,” I finish, feeling my cheeks flush. He smiles a sweet smile, and reaches for my hand. “Christine?” he says softly, “I should be thanking you.” I feel 3 words start spilling out of my mouth, “I-I love you…” He looks into my eyes, while tears form in his own. “You don’t know what it’s like to love somebody the way I love you.”