Thoughts of a Ham Sandwich

my first boyfriend

When we first started talking I was a nervous wreck of a person. Every message he sent me threw my heart onto a treadmill on speed ten. I'd sit on my bedroom floor and read the messages out to my friends, who would help me craft the perfect response. I'd never really dated before. Never put myself out there before. He was so perfect. So what I was looking for. It blew my mind that he seemed at all interested.

The first date went really well. He was so nice and, again, just what I was looking for. We came from similar backgrounds, liked similar movies, laughed at similar jokes. We sat and talked for three hours, the shortest three hours of my life.

There was a night, near the end of December, where I sat in the back of my parents' car talking to him. It was such a visceral feeling: to be surrounded by the family I love and to be texting the guy I was starting to see my forever with. I remember thinking that in a year's time, he might be sitting next to me in the back of my parent's car. It was a truly lovely thought.

Our second date was the first time a guy touched me. He put his arm around me, his hand on my knee. He tried to tickle me, haha, he wouldn't stop trying despite me not being ticklish. He later told me he just wanted to touch me. He stared into my eyes until I was blushing ear to ear, to be fair, it didn't take very long at all. At the end of the date, he hugged me so tight that everything felt right in the world.

Date three, he kissed me in the slightly messy kitchen of his dorm while our pasta boiled on the stove. Then, later, on the couch he'd pushed into his bedroom. We kissed for a long time on that couch. He asked me to be his girlfriend, ha, on date three, and I said yes. 

In the begining, it all seemed so perfect and lovely and right. Like I'd finally met the person I was meant to spend my life with. I loved him. And he loved me too. And it was all kinds of wonderful. But as time progressed things felt less and less right and I'm not even sure why. I'd push these doubts out of my brain or trample them into the mud because I loved him but they'd always come back.

I realized, one night while crying over the idea of losing him, that I could live very happily with him for the rest of my life. I might have to give up a few of my other dreams to make it work but I could. I wanted to make it work. I wanted to love him and be loved for the rest of my life. I had another realization, however. If I loved him, if I kept him, there would be some other girl out there who was better for him than I was. Some other girl who wouldn't just be happy with him, but would be living her absolute best life with him. Some other girl who wouldn't have to give things up to be with him because being with him would include everything she could ever want. But I trampled this idea too, in order to hold onto him for a little longer.

Time passed. Our relationship grew. He continued to love me. I continued to love him. We taught each other things we couldn't have learned without the other. We laughed and joked and had a grand ole time. But the rightness was still leaving. Things were starting to feel like two notes that didn't quite fit. I still loved him but he said things I didn't like. I still loved him but we had to be long distance. I still loved him but he didn't support me in a time of need. I still loved him but I decided to let him go.

And I feel like shit.

I know that this will be better for both of us in the long run, but right now, it sucks. It sucks big time. He took it really well, wished me the best, told me not to settle for a guy who just wanted to use me. His last message to me was one of our inside jokes. It broke me. I dropped where I stood and cried.

He was an amazing boyfriend. And I thank every god I know of for him and the time we had together. I hope he lives his bests life and finds the girl that can help him do that. I hope he doesn't resent me too much. I really did have our best interest at heart. It turns out, what I was looking for isn't meant to be.