Letters for Love

04. Dear My First Love

It is impossible to tell the amounts of times I have tried to write this letter to you. My words would fail to form coherent sentences and the paper would be a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings.

But now that I think about it, that's loving someone. Confusing, unorganized, and completely unpredictable.

     I used to think that you couldn't love someone until you loved yourself. That was what everyone told me at least. They said that the insecurities that I fostered inside myself would be incapable of producing an actual, real, authentic type of love for someone else.

 
   Now though it feels like you've shown me that that's untrue. Because, I know with absolute certainty that I gave you that true love even before I could accept some for myself.

     When people think of the beautiful things in life, they list mountain peeks with vast horizons that seep orange-red into the yellow sun or crystal blue oceans that hold sparkling cream seashells in the crevices of white sand.

     And that's how it feels to be with you. Like the brightest constellation in a pearl moon or the light dust of snow that's wind runs through your bones and leaves them alive and bare.

You were sunshine boring into a window that reflected off beams of light onto broken glass.

    I questioned if that love was real, because the constitution of true and untrue were blurred. A moment's hesitation, a brush of hands, a cautious glance in your direction as my thoughts ran faster than my feet could take me.

    It was easy to get lost in the warmth of your touch. You made me feel special, like I was the only person you were looking at. I felt known.

     I strode along the unfinished pavement recollecting, the leaves of passing color lifting up slightly against the wind and dancing together in a graceful flurry.

It was passion and elegance and fire.

It was breath taking and arms willing.

It was you.

It was me.

It was us and all that we could be.

But with loving you came moments of inevitable pain and hurt. And in every way that my heart raced for you, it also broke and ached for you.

All that anyone wants is to be loved passionately and whole-heartedly.

To be chosen specifically and intentionally. With every day that passed I decided to choose you, to choose to step into my biggest vulnerabilities and doubts so that you could see me.

All that anyone wants is to be seen for exactly who they are.

All that anyone ever wants is to be loved.

     In another life I would rush to get ready for our six o' clock date hours beforehand because I would be too nervous to sit still. You'd show up in a black and white suit, and while smoothing it over you'd ask me if it looked okay and I would say that it looked alright because I wouldn't want you knowing.

    Because, in truth, you looked handsome, so handsome that I'd squeeze the side of my dress tight.  You would tell me I looked beautiful, and I would have wondered for a moment if I really was, beautiful, like you said I was.

    Maybe in another life we'd sit down at a restaurant and talk for hours on end about everything that mattered the most to us, what filled our souls, and shaped our lives. Our laughter would flutter together and mix between the white noise of chattering tables.

    Maybe in another life you'd ask me to go roller skating, and we would spend the rest of the night trying to keep balance, singing at the top of our lungs to tunes we didn't know.

    You'd drive me home and run your hand through you hair anxiously, but I wouldn't even realize because all that I would be thinking about was whether or not you were going to hold my hand, and whether or not I should hold yours.

     I would shut the door, heart pounding, and lean against the cool glass window wondering if tonight was a hazy dream and that if it was, just a dream, I would pray to dream just a little while longer. I'd call my friends and talk about every last detail, just so that I could recount and relive the moment one more time.

In another life I would have had the courage. Sometimes the people that are the most confident in themselves, are the ones fighting to protect their fragile hearts.

Maybe in another life I could have been someone you were capable of loving fiercely.

But there is no other life. There is no second string of fate that can tie us back together. And even if there was, would you choose me then?

But I don't want to be the choice that you make after my heart becomes available to you. I don't want to be someone that gets a second thought only after it becomes comfortable and safe for you.

     A bird, in its youth, finds great comfort in its nest. But when its youth crinkles like paper, the bird must leave and display its independence. With careful steps toward the edge, the bird wishes to look back at their mother, but it doesn't.

I imagine that the bird doesn't look back at its mother because it doesn't want to show that it's scared. It wants to front it's bravery and courage, so that when it leaves with its slightly hesitant fluttering, the mother can look on and be comforted, just as the bird once was.

But what the mother does not know, is that as the bird flies away, it desperately searches for a place to land. It searches in vast horizons for a solid place to stand and rest its tired wings. The bird sees a flock and a pit in its heart starts to beat a little bit louder than before, its wings are frantically flapping because a glimmer of hope begins to plant a seed in its soul, that maybe it could find a place to stand again.

 

        And the bird lands. It finds its footing on the foundation where it plants itself, but that land isn't home, and every land that it flies across and plants it's feet down on won't bring it comfort like the nest once did.

     You were the first. The first boy that I thought about waking up and the first boy that I thought about going to sleep. But it's not about those moments really it's the ones in between those mornings and nights that matter, and even then I thought about you.

   You were the first boy that gave me your jacket to wear when it got cold, the first boy to tell me that I looked pretty no matter what I wore, and the first boy to lend a shoulder to lean on.

I wish I could've told you this sooner. That I felt embarrassed when I motioned for you to sit next to me and you sat next to her. That I would check my phone almost every day wondering why you wouldn't text me back. That I felt ashamed of myself when you looked uncomfortable to be around me. That I wanted to hide when your parents felt unsure about us hanging out. And that I knew that even if you weren't interested in her you still wouldn't be interested in me.

I wanted to tell you that although loving you came with wild uncertainty and an enveloping warmth, it also came with heartbreak and shame.

I think the hardest part is knowing that there are so many what ifs and I wishes. Regrets that pile and pile until they become overbearing, as if a weight is pushing down on your chest and it's hard to breathe.

     But where would that lead. What ifs are like trying to hold dust, it slips through your fingers and fades into the wind.

So today, not yesterday or tomorrow, I choose to love you. I choose to love you right now. Is that okay? To love you publicly and boldly, so that one day you are able to realize how special and beautiful it was to be loved by someone like me.