Letter to my First Love

There are some things that I have to express and they’re confusing. The girl I used to love (and still might just a little), how do I even begin to describe her? I met her when I was 11 or maybe even 12, an age where I was so bitter and angry that when she approached, heart on her sleeve, hands reaching out with friendship all I could do was recoil and spit venom at her. With most people, they would have seen the violence in my eyes and given me up as a lost cause but somehow you must have seen something else because you never stopped approaching me with nothing but compassion in your eyes. Sometimes I wish you would have stayed away, maybe I wouldn’t have hurt you then.

At a speed I could not have anticipated you became my best friend, not that I would have ever admitted it to myself, and I would go to you with girl problems and I never noticed that even then I was hurting you.

And then we fell in love, and that was the beginning of the end for me, everything revolved around you, I swear that it was like gravity shifted and I was caught in your orbit. I don’t know if you ever felt like I loved you less than you did me, but it’s not true.

I loved you with everything in me, in spite of everything in me. I swear it was like I was drowning, the way I loved you felt like I was always on the cusp of imploding. It was violent and my heart tore at my chest to offer itself unto you.

When we kissed my skin felt like bursting into flames and lightning charred the inside of my veins and I was lost, lost, lost in you.

I loved you so, which is why I couldn’t keep going, I burnt out, I couldn’t keep up. I made you unattainable when I already had you. But I was losing myself and I couldn’t afford to.

But the worst part, is that it wasn’t always passion and burning.

The moments I miss more are the ones where you would become unbearably human. Memories of sitting on your feet because you thought your toes would fall off. Memories of shampoo in my eyes that you would tenderly wipe away. Of gel and hairbrushes and your capable hands taming these wild curls. Of snow days spent watching movies. of handholding that would light up my soul. Of drawings that you would make of the two of us. (I wonder if you make them for him) Of gentle singing when you were focused. Of earth-shattering worship that would bring down the Kingdom. Of tight sock buns and even tighter hugs. Of front lawn conversations in the dark. Of slow dancing, of learning how to dance because I wanted you to have a partner in me. We fit, you made me feel needed in a way I craved, I was ready to give up everything for you.

Suffice to say, I miss you. Today more than others. And I’ll probably never stop loving you in some capacity, you were my first love, but I hope you aren’t my last.

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