I once thought that true feelings were necessarily complex. If you love, you worry, wait, endure, cry, and endure trials. Calm relationships seemed boring to me, almost unreal. I believed that strong love always comes with pain.

That's probably why I was so drawn to difficult people. To those who sometimes approached, then disappeared. Who gave hope, then distanced themselves. Who could be tender in the evening and strange in the morning. Around such people, feelings truly seemed vibrant. My heart was constantly tense.

Back then, I confused anxiety with passion.

When a person is unpredictable, every little thing seems important. A message evokes euphoria. Coldness—panic. A meeting—happiness. Silence—pain. All of this creates a feeling of immense love, although in reality, it's often just emotional roller coaster.

I didn't realize this right away. After yet another story that had left me exhausted, I met a man who made me feel calm. He wrote consistently. He didn't disappear. He kept his promises. He was interested in my life. With him, I didn't have to guess what was going on.

And the first feeling I had was strange: boredom.

It scared me at the time. But then I realized—I wasn't bored. I felt unfamiliar. I was so used to drama that the calm felt like emptiness.

It was an important growing up.

Now I know: love doesn't have to break your nerves to be real. It doesn't have to keep you on edge. It doesn't have to make you suffer for the sake of rare moments of happiness.

Sometimes the most mature feelings come quietly. Without swings, without games, without endless waiting. And they have more depth than any storm.