Falling Up

first love

Let me tell you about my first love.

They were beautiful.

Their nose was a little too wide and their lips were a little too plump, but that made my heart flutter and my legs quake all the more.

They stood tall in their beauty, as if they knew that they were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and they knew that they would be what tore me apart but built me back all at the same time.

They smiled that half moon smirk that could cut across my darkened eyes and force a smile onto me. They laughed with that, out of control and proud cackle that invaded my head space when I seemed to drift a little too far away from now.

When they saw something cute, I swear to whatever is appropriate to swear on, that God crafted that damn smile where their lips curled in and their eyes lit up and they looked at me like one would look at God himself.

But, in that moment, I would not be God.

I was just me.

And they were just them.

But they were the force that kept me from tall buildings and pill bottles. They were the force that pulled me into the atmosphere of clarity. They, my friend, were my emergency contact when the fire place turned my home of a body into a blaze that hollowed me.

They took my hand and led me from the ocean pier to the lighthouse.

I was no longer lost when I was with them.

But I was the guiding light for people like me. Who were so desperately lost and confused, so I could point them ashore.

Just as they did for me.

My first love was a house built with sturdy wood, that tended to warp easy under storms. My first love was a shelter from the choas that churned in the depths of my soul. My first love was a message in a bottle to the lonely wanderer. My first love was an open sky to a prisoner. My first love was a sunset to the artist looking for inspiration. My first love was the doorknob that opened into the world for the first time. My first love was a kind glance in a room of hostility. My first love was the key to the slave's locked hands. My first love was the opening chord to the haunting melody. My first love was the easel that held so sturdy for the masterpiece. My first love was the foundation for the home against a hurricane.

My first love broke me.

I wander a little too close to tall buildings.

I sit a little too far on the pier.