My first love got married ..
I saw the pictures of him with her on the beach.
I remembered our plans to get married on St. Patrick’s Day, in Ireland.
I remembered his eyes squinting in the sun, the smell of his skin in the ocean
The time he told me he wished I could have been his last love not his first
I read Pillars of the Earth to him out loud, in our little apartment right on the sand and perfected my mashed potatoes ( his favorite food).
I always tried to cook for him, constantly hoping to mean something to him, or have some purpose for him and when I handed him a plate of what must have been shitty lasagna at the time and he looked up at me and said
-You don’t have to do this. Why do you do this?
He knew it wasn’t my truth yet.
No, he knew I was fucking lying.
The night he sat down across from me and just stared shamelessly at me for an hour, not saying a word. It was after the first time he saw me and he went after me like that. He found me where I was. He left his old Nova at home and rode his skateboard to find me.
Walked right in and sat down.
Just to stare at me.
His eyes always pure. Even now.
-What are you doing tonight
Seconds frozen in my mind like still life postcards
-I am going with you.
It’s hard to remember and not remember everything
Not in pictures, in feeling.
He was someone my soul fit into, like a pocket.
He was too cool for me, the kind of cool I could never keep up with, the kind that knew who he was and didn’t give a fuck what you thought.
He grew up poor, loved to death and unsupervised
I was wealthy with a helicopter mom who never liked me.
I was out of my league almost immediately.
I always felt like I couldn’t keep up. Like I had to run to hold on to him.
I never found a place with people that felt like they deserved to be here and other people didn’t.
We were so young ,
It wasn’t a love that was real or worked hard.
It was a love from long ago, a love that our souls and lifetimes felt.
A love that never made sense.
- I dreamed of you before I met you
He told me
And I dreamed of him after .. always after.
It took me ten years to feel like I was over him, that I could see him or speak to him and not want anything from him.
Almost every man I’ve ever been with has always hated him. He has come up in more arguments than I care to admit .
Maybe because he took longer. He was the longest heartbreak I ever felt.
Something held me there to him.
All I know is love doesn’t hold you there, love is bigger than that.
You don’t need anything when you love, because love is ever satisfied and complete with itself.
I could have walked away and never looked back, if I had loved him.
If he had loved me.
But with young love, you’re never quite sure what it is.
It could have been the time I had without kids or stretch marks. Or the time I had before the pain. The time I was not awake yet. The time when I could have friends and I could talk to anyone, even when I didn’t want to. It was the last and only time I was anything resembling normal. The last time I didn’t know what I didn’t know and just got to roam the streets in complete freedom and selfishness. I was asleep and yet always the life of the party.
The young loves are more than what you had with a person.
They are a time in your life.
A time that will never be again.
When we were children that got to dance in bars all night and fuck like adults. Go skinny dipping and scream at the moon.
It definitely was not the complete recognition of my soul in another person or any other dramatic idea about love.
It was a primal fucking urge.
Our skin belonged together.
-I get drunk smelling you
As time went on, I felt myself learning from him.
He was one of the very first people I met who was not insane.
He was a teacher for me, probably my first.
I started changing into what I thought he needed me to be. Into what started making more sense to me.
What he left me with was this overwhelming sense that I didn’t know myself yet. That I wasn’t as strong as him to know or to be that. He always knew who he was and never doubted himself.
He was the first and only man to ever demand more of me as a person.
Just being pretty and good in bed wasn’t enough for him.
It completely surprised me.
He was the last man that I wasn’t more for.
Because the pain I felt when he left catapulted me
To where I am now.
Part of it was the mess I had made and I often wondered if he saw me through it.
If he knew.
I wanted to clean it up so bad.
I wanted him to see that I knew, all of this.
He would never let me in again.
But with time , people change.
And the man I had once loved turned into a man I didn’t know.
A man who didn’t love me. A man who never asked questions.
A man who didn’t want answers.
And really, a man I didn’t like.
Skin on skin.
I let him go
I think I knew him.
I saw he was engaged and thought it might be a type-o.
Smiles and kisses and a suit.
These are big compromises for the man I knew.
- I never want to be with another beautiful woman again, ever.
She is comfortable.
-You’re just too much for one man and not enough for two.
I never had a place there.
My first love got married and
It doesn’t matter that he was my first.
It doesn’t make it anything different or more.
Something deeper than words you speak or things you see.
Every love is different and the same.
There was something left undone and it was me…
I think he saw what I would become . I think he saw the parts of me that were always true. I think he saw my soul, buried beneath the projection. He wanted more than what could serve him.
He saw in me what I didn’t know yet about myself and that unsettles you , it fucking scars you.
He could see past my skin.
And then it was only questions that never got answered and I think really what I always wanted to know was
If any of it was true.