Before I met you, there was someone else—someone I thought would sustain my need for companionship.
How misguided I was to be swayed by his words of affection. I was naïve to assume we would be perfect together, and I was impulsive in declaring my feelings for him. In my quest for genuine affection, I failed to see that you were dealing with your own heartbreak. In my panic over losing my first love, I overlooked your struggles with betrayal.
Instead, you were there for me.
I'd made regrettable choices with him. So many I wish I could undo. Not because they were wrong in the eyes of the world, but because I had been forcing myself to become someone else to please him. My heart wasn't his, not in the way I thought it was. I didn't truly love him—at least not the way I would you. The day truly realized a fool I had been to mistake love for fleeting passion was the day I vowed to treasure my first love. To shower them with affection beyond my wildest imagination.
And then you came along.
Two broken hearts
Two souls who had not yet experienced love.
You didn't make grand declarations of your affection for me. Your hugs of friendship for others to see seemed to convey all that was unspoken. You didn't try to win me over with empty words. Rather, every time our hands held, we battled to see who would let go first.
Here they come again, memories of hands holding mine, in the wetness of rain, in the biting winter winds as you held them in your hoodie, fingers intertwined not wanting to let go. You'd paid attention and noticed the little things about me that no one else ever did. I wonder if you realized the weather was an excuse to be close to you. To embrace in my arms, to hold your hand, excited, our friend would catch on to our secret. I wanted those hands to hold me boldly.
No, that was the moment I realized I loved you.
It didn't come as a sudden burst or an overwhelming surge of emotion. It was quiet and steady, like the rising of the sun—inevitable and undeniable.
My love, the kind of love I'd only ever read about in my books. Love that made me scared I'd lose you. Love that made me worried every time you were late for class.
Why did I tell you then?
I would have had longer to shower you with love.
I wanted to tell you then. I wanted to take your face in my hands, look into your eyes, and say, "I love you" every time you held me in your arms.
But I was scared. Scared of ruining what we had, scared of losing our friendship, scared of the intensity of what I felt.
So, I stayed silent. Letting only our unspoken words comfort me.
And now, I wonder if that silence had been my first mistake. Perhaps holding back my love was what started the chain of events that led us to our end—to this aching distance, to this endless longing.
Because the truth is, no one has ever made me feel the way you did. No one ever will.
You are my first love!