When I was 8 I thought love was about overcoming some obstacle like a poison apple or an evil stepmother or evil huns, and finding Prince Charming in order to live happily ever after. 

When I was 12 I discovered boys. Love became something much more intangible and complicated. That was the only thing about love I was ever truly right about it. 

When I was 13 I thought love meant being beautiful and perfect and I worried constantly that because I was neither I would never find anyone to love me.

When I was 16 I thought love was something like a contest to win, a precious treasure that I had to hurry up and find before all the other girls; I never won. 

When I was 17 I thought love was about sex and desire and drama and passion; I learned the hard way that love could be easily confused with lust. 

At 20 I think love is never what you think it is. And sometimes I wish I could be 8 again and believe that love is just a perfect fairy tale.