First time we sat next to each other. First time I learned your name. First time we graded each other’s papers. First bad, yet unarguably endearing, smiley face. First moment of uncontrollable laughter. First inside joke. First five hours of non-stop texting. First time you made me feel like the most special girl in the world. First time I acknowledged that the feeling in my stomach was more than just liking you as a friend. First music recommendation. First time I wrote a poem about you because I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you for days. First park. First analogy for people. First look at the stars. First “I love you.” First nervous encounter to establish some kind of title. First slice of pizza. First movie night. First kiss. First real date. First dance.
First sense of unclarity. First time I started to feel empty and sad. First fight. First feelings of being unappreciated. First fear. First tear. First time laying awake all night, crying and thinking. First time I knew the feeling in my stomach was more than just being sick. First heartbreak. First time I desperately tried to communicate and it failed. First time I listened to our song with a frown rather than a smile. First end. First day with no text at all. First Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat post that hurt. First time you tried to prove I was meaningless. First time life was painfully better when I was asleep rather than when I was awake facing reality. First time you made me feel like the least special girl in the world. First time I heard about your new girlfriend. First time I woke my parents up at 12:00 am to talk about it because I desperately needed someone and they were all I had (are all I have). First time I sat on my bed in agonizing pain, clenching my heart that hurt more than I ever imagined it possibly could. First time it hurt that I was still so broken and you had been able to let me go, move on, and be fine so easily. First time I thought maybe I felt a little better. First time I remembered something that sent me right back to where I started, proving me wrong. First time I was secretly excited because I saw a car and I really wanted it to be yours. First time I was secretly disappointed because it wasn’t your car. First look at your twitter through blurry, tear filled eyes. First time I hated myself for still not being over you. First time my sister laughed at me for still not being over you. First time I felt like I would never get over you. Last sentence of this post, still not over you.
(This is my spin off of a piece from “Memories of a Girl” by a great writer named Timothy Goodman.)