If any of you had a first love like mine, you won’t forget it even in your next life. It was the kind that was unforeseen by all, but was big enough to shake the normalities of everyone’s life. What had started at an innocent parade would later on end just as picturesque as it began.
The day we met will probably be told as urban legends. At our counties parade, I had so spontaneously decided to attend, is where I first laid eyes on you. At this time, we were both in our awkward fifteen-year old stage so I thought your curly blond hair and thick-rimmed glasses were the shit. You had obviously been attracted to me in my baby-doll dress and black baggy hat. I remember asking the people around who you were, and from that point on, that name would forever be so simply imprinted in my mind, phone, and writings.
We started off slowly, as any awkward teenage relationship would. But it wasn’t long until you had decided to tell me you loved me. It was October 9, 2009, another mental tattoo. It had taken me by surprise but later on i would reciprocate the same feelings. From there on, it exploded. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t see you. You were my rock, I was your left leg. It was the kind of situation where we both hated our schools and most of the people in it, so we were breaths of fresh air and ideas that we both needed. People just didn’t get our way of life, that we liked the finer things. Things that people didn’t even know existed, like music other than the radio. So from there on it was just you and I.
Concert after concert, festivals, summer to-do lists, weekend vacations. And keep in mind our ages, probably the ripe age of 17. I was there at any event you ever had, attending every night of your plays untouched by boredom. By this time I had become good friends with your mom, a playmate for your cousins, and the girl you thought you would marry. But there comes a time when a young girl wants more than sitting in basements, smoking weed, and watching boys play video games. Although, there honestly wasn’t much else going on in our rural town. But while you thought I was just too stoned to talk I was really dreaming of being somewhere else: Paris.
And dream I did. And work I did to be able to make that dream become a reality. Almost three years later, and I was on a plane to Paris, France where you would come to visit me. But change is inevitable. I realized neither of us were really that committed to each other, you had found a niche of selling while I was gone. Of course it was just so you could raise money to come see me but other baggage came along with your side job. So the day came to come get your from CDG, and I wasn’t sure if the tears that were falling from my face were because I missed you or because I had known that we had grown so far apart that it would become impossible to ever come back to each other.
So it was there, in the romance capital of the world, where we ended our four year relationship. But we had to of seen it coming, long periods of me not talking, trying to keep up with you while you walked. Walking in on you doing lines off my European dryer without an offering even? Who was this person? Is what we were both saying.
And that is why losing you first love is the saddest thing that will happen to you. In the beginning you both think you know each other so well. But in the end? Complete strangers. I still don’t know how to think of you. Six months later and my heart is still ripping. I can literally feel it ripping, split in two, and heavy. But there is something stronger that molds my heart back together. Like stone.