I still haven't decided if I am going to your wedding or not. My bowl of cereal seems sorry too.I scowl at the wedding invite long and hard almost willing it to make up my mind for me. And it stays quiet like the rest of the house.
We were childhood friends. My father knew your mother; he handled her finances. And we became quick friends the day you defended me from a bully wanting my cycle. You walked me home and I stared at the red ribbons in your hair when you walked away. It slipped easily from friends to becoming sweethearts. I could complete your sentences and you could beat me at beer-pong. All of our firsts were together, with each other and I would not want it any other way.
As we grew up, we also became individuals, individuals who wanted different things in life. It was an unspoken break-up. You just up and moved to a different country and I knew that would be it.
Your e-mails were always friendly, always sweet. And there was an ache in my heart that I did not quite manage to quench. You met someone. I read the mail, re-read it a hundred times and I could still not will it to change.
Now, I stand here in front of the mirror with a shirt in my hand. I look at myself. No matter how much things have changed, I still can not see my first love being married to someone else. No...
I throw the shirt down, dump the cereal and head back to bed.
Happy married life.
We were childhood friends. My father knew your mother; he handled her finances. And we became quick friends the day you defended me from a bully wanting my cycle. You walked me home and I stared at the red ribbons in your hair when you walked away. It slipped easily from friends to becoming sweethearts. I could complete your sentences and you could beat me at beer-pong. All of our firsts were together, with each other and I would not want it any other way.
As we grew up, we also became individuals, individuals who wanted different things in life. It was an unspoken break-up. You just up and moved to a different country and I knew that would be it.
Your e-mails were always friendly, always sweet. And there was an ache in my heart that I did not quite manage to quench. You met someone. I read the mail, re-read it a hundred times and I could still not will it to change.
Now, I stand here in front of the mirror with a shirt in my hand. I look at myself. No matter how much things have changed, I still can not see my first love being married to someone else. No...
I throw the shirt down, dump the cereal and head back to bed.
Happy married life.
Is it really true that you don't get over your first love?
ReplyDeleteI think its more the memory of how it happened..
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