My First Love

This boy.

Oh this sophomore, 16 year old boy.

He stole my heart. Or maybe I gave it to him.

Yes, I gave him my heart. I didn’t even offer really. I basically took my beat down, already damaged heat and threw it at him.

He fell in love with me, but I fell first. I was interesting and fun and he was kind and different.

We spent the summer laughing, cuddling, and making fun memories.

School came and ‘they’ said that we wouldn’t work, that we wouldn’t last. ‘They’ said, “He’s a sophomore in high school and you’re a freshman in college; its doomed.”

I didn’t believe them. I really truly didn’t.

I fell so in love with this boy, I was so set on being with this boy for my whole entire life. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to have kids with him. I wanted dogs with him. I wanted a life with him.

Relationships are hard. Especially when the circumstances suck.

Crying became a ritual to me. At least three times a week I would cry. I would like to make myself seem strong and say that I didn’t cry over this boy, but I always did.

Maybe it was the fact that he was younger. I never wanted to think that that was an issue but maybe it was. Maybe he was too immature, not ready for what I wanted.

We weren’t on the same page.

I wanted different things than he did.

I had different priorities than he did.

I loved too deeply, and gave too much.

He walked all over me and did what he wanted. He said what he wanted. He tweeted his feelings instead of telling me about them.

I felt like I was backed into a corner. I felt like I had no choice but to leave that relationship.

It hurt.

It hurt but I didn’t leave. I took the blows, cried, suffered.

I knew that our relationship was already over in month three.

I was nieve. I thought so much of him

I THOUGH I WOULD SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH HIM.

I knew I was better off without him. I knew that his mean words outweighed the sweet ones.

I knew that crying more than laughing wasn’t worth it anymore.

I knew that his feelings were fading.

But I also knew that I could get over him, that I would be okay. I knew that my eighteen year old self would be fine. I knew that I loved him so hard and it would be so hard for me to let go and force myself to start over but it would be okay.

That hurts. The okay part hurts.

I promised him one day, one day after I knew that I was in love that I wouldn’t break up with him. I told him how deep I was and there was no way I would let myself lose this great love.

So, I haven’t.

This boy.

This sophomore, 16 year old boy broke my heart.

I shielded it, took the hits, but he broke it.

The boy that took my virginity.

The boy that I gave every piece of my heart to, broke it.