While I was going through my first breakup, I asked my (now married) sister, “How did you know he was the one?”
“I don’t think there’s a singular moment where you know he’s the one. But there’s definitely a moment in which you know he’s not the one,” she responded.
She was right. And each time that moment has happened, my heart shattered. My heart has been broken twice now. That means I’ve rebuilt it once. I’ll rebuild again. (This time with bricks instead of straw.)