First loves will forever and always be tricky things to deal with. It doesn’t matter how old you are, age hardly makes a difference if you know that you’re in love, especially if it’s the first time. My first love did something awful to me, thereby causing a chain of events. Out of my first love came my first (and most painful) heartbreak, a wave of trust issues--that I’m still struggling to get over--as well as the isolation from my friends and family. The older ones are the trickiest to get by, especially when they’ve been in the heart-breaking game for years. I grew to hate him. Every aspect of him. His voice, his hair, his eyes, the sound of his name amongst my peers…..just everything. But then, the flashbacks of the good times came back to haunt me in my dreams with promises of a future, even though I knew these would never be true, and that I didn’t want those promises of a future to ever become a reality. Along with the flashbacks, the moments where we would talk made me believe that there was more to the man instead of the monster who crushed my heart and sent me down into a world of pain for a year. Conversation flowed as if nothing had ever happened, as if he didn’t split me in two, and cause the mental scars that still remain with me today.

In person is when it hurts the most. It’s only ever been twice, but every time it does...the stitches in my heart that took a year to sew between the strings get minorly cut. The first time was just an argument, me screaming at him to get out of town and finally get a life. The second time however...the second time made it feel like nothing had changed. Easy talking, funny moments, glances that always lasted a bit too long. The sentimental moments are the ones that kill me. The ones where we’ll be sitting on a couch, he’ll give me that look that I once thought was filled with love and compassion, and just tell me everything he remembers from our short time together almost three years ago.

“I remember how much you hate being picked up. Remember the fireman’s carry I did that one time?” The amount he still would make fun of me, only because he still loves to see me annoyed because he finds it somewhat cute, even now. Or when I go to give him a hug with my arms over his shoulders, but I need to stand on my tip toes to reach him. He’ll smile into my hair and whisper,

“Heh, hugging you is still fun because you’re short.” The flirtatious moments as well. The play fights where I’ll threaten to hit him, and he’ll just smile at me, look at my lips, and then back at my eyes and claim he was never, and still continues to not be afraid of me. At which point I’ll walk away and know that if I look over my shoulder I’ll see him starring. It all makes me wonder if maybe we were really meant to be together. No matter what, we always find our way back...maybe not into a relationship but always connected. My parents’ approval will never be, and I know he’s not what I need. But in my eyes, it just seems strange how someone who hurt me so much and who wa taken out of my life and who made me cry myself to sleep for a year always finds their way back to me and makes me smile as if all the bad times never happened.

I’m not one to believe in fate or destiny, but superstition and coincidences...I never turn a blind eye to those. I read my horoscope one day online, and checked the love section to find that I had already supposedly found my soulmate and the person I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with...so I can only wonder...maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s the one who’s supposed to be mine in the end. It’s ridiculous to think about, and ridiculous to say out loud but it’s not necessarily illogical. After all, Romeo and Juliet were destined, so why aren’t we? We’re oil and water, but at the same time...an instrument with a musician. So could it be?