The summer I turned 19, I had a wildly passionate love affair with one of my best friend’s father. He was my first true love and it was a decade before I felt like that again (admittedly, the second time I fell like that, I fell even harder). We had the most intense connection -when we were friends, we were best friends; when we were lovers, we were the only thing that existed to each other; when we fell out, we hated each other with vitriol; and when we run into each other now, we have the easiest, most natural repartee- and I worshipped him. I was endlessly in love with him. We made love with a passion I’ve never experienced before or since; all night until the birds were signing in the trees, we would destroy rooms and wake up on the floor amongst broken mirrors and ornaments with the sheets in the ceiling fan and the mattress fully off the bed. Nothing since has even come close.