first love.



I never know what to think when it comes to love. I say that love is overused, bland. That we are so accustomed to throwing out a simple I love you that the sentence no longer has meaning or depth. Love is a broken record. It’s why I’m so afraid of it, that I say I love you and never mean it.


It’s ironic, how I write about love like I know every single nook and cranny that love holds in the palm of its hand. I am in love, but only with the facade of it. Love is beautiful on the outside. The simplicity of a newfound blossom of warmth is calming. I yearn for just that: the simplicity of love. To go deeper into such emotion isn’t ideal for myself and my little bubble of daydream.


One night, my heart was beating out of my chest as someone told me that they love me. I paused. The bubble of text taunting: oh, what are you going to say next? 



I love you.

I love you too.



I wasn’t deserving of love, and for someone to love me with their heart and soul left me speechless. Such a heartfelt lie, that stung no one’s heart but mine. Love was something I wasn’t capable of giving my all to. Love, to me, was something more, but I could never figure out what I truly wanted.


That night, I said I wasn’t in love.

This night, I realized I was.


Because I’ve said I’ve never loved; yet, love isn’t physical, but emotional. Because I went through a hell of a rollercoaster of emotion with them, and I would go through it all over again. Because I didn’t need to say I love you when I had already shown it through such acts as late-night calls, laughing more than I ever had with anyone else, and sending them pictures of miscellaneous items saying that “these reminded me of you!”.  I didn’t need to ask them if they were listening, because they always were. I didn’t need to worry, because I knew them like the back of my hand.


Love, to me, was too hard to comprehend. I once wanted only simplicity, to love without the silence of the unexpected. Yet, to love simply is a love not worth fighting for.



To my first love, one I owe so much of the world to:

I love you. I’m sorry for not saying it sooner.

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