Looking back, I cringe at the sheer childishness of some of these entries. I may as well have been giggling and kicking my feet and drawing little hearts while writing them. There's no unifying "type" to these physically diverse male crushes beyond "he was nice to me for longer than 30 seconds and feels safe."

I pictured him crying in his bed when he woke up that morning, or even going to bed crying right after leaving me; knowing I'd hurt him, knowing I'd been the one to cross physical boundaries. It destroyed me, if I'm honest.

What if kindness as a fruit of the Spirit simply meant your unconscious approach to others – and even to yourself – was to help instead of judge? What if kindness manifested itself in the simple idea that when you see someone in need or hurting or broken, you desire to care for them before you desire to know how it happened?