first love

a little bit about my first love

I think I often discredit and forget about my first love because of my age at the time. I was no older than 12, no younger than 10, and I was in love for the first time. I suppose I discredit it because it wasn’t a bright, flashy story, it was sepia-toned and quiet and chocolatey sweet. We were just two kids who liked books, nighttime, writing, and each other, and that’s all we needed to hold us together.

We had sleepovers most weekends and spent the weekdays talking in school. We talked about everything, and when she held me, she held me as if I was the only solid thing in her world. She was warm, and sweet, and spoke with a wisdom no child I’ve come to know has ever had. She spoke like a poet�"an artist�"and it was an honor, even at that young age, to have her speak to me, to hear her voice.

We swam in lakes and had picnics together, we held hands and ran to embrace each other on the first day of 7th grade as if we hadn’t seen each other in months, when we’d really seen each other the weekend before.

But, because we were so young, I tend to forget about what we were, I forget that I knew love in it’s purest form at a time. I forget that I knew a love that was all giving and no taking. A love that truly could heal people, because we were just two kids with hurting hearts, trying to help each other hurt a little less and to laugh a little more.

Sometimes, I pretend it didn’t happen, because I’m ashamed at how we’ve grown apart. At least, I know the version of me who loved her would be disappointed in what’s become of us. Somedays I think she could’ve saved me from what I am now. It sounds impossible, to save someone from themself, but if anyone could’ve done it, it would’ve been her.