F
"he was my first love, and he will ever be."
they say a person only love three times in their lifetime with different reasons. one to teach you grow a better version of yourself, one who showers you scars may it be lilac made or carnations, and one who is really made for your soul. i feared the fact that if love cease to exist in my universe, what if i never meet those three?
i scribbled your three lettered name at the back of my palm while waiting for the rain to finally stop its turbulence, with a cup of coffee in front of me—nearly getting cold, as cold as the wind, as cold as my heart. i constantly created thoughts about us in my head. what if i never loved you? what if i really did? regardless, you cannot get it reciprocated, however the situation it has to be. hence, was that and can be that labeled as love? can you be named as my first love?
bunch of thoughts clouded my mind, like a weather forecast enshrouded by said thunderstorms. what's with me why i ought to always define you as the embodiment of my first love when the only thing you did was to get my heart broken? is it because i was always lost in your gaze? or is it that you differ from the country skater boys in the serpents valley? how about the chrysanthemum coated words flowing of smoke sugars and old whiskey? was it the smell of your ice perfume then?
how do we define love? and how do we know if he is someone you love? isn't it all about the butterflies they give you? or the accept-the-flaws saying? my five year old version says that love is when a man becomes a prince and marry the forsaken princess with glass shoes, or so if someone makes you arose from the dead by a true love's kiss, perhaps if a princess kisses someone who is put upon a curse to be a beast or frog. my thirteen year old self believes that love is when you met someone at the elevator telling you have a good music taste because she overheard The Smith's song, or if someone tells you to jump together. uncertain and oblivious, is that what love truly meant to be?
mayhap not, mayhap yes, either of them two. but love speaks your name, your soul, and you as a whole. love is where you left me hanging every 3 am in the morning. love is where i dwell with anxieties and maybe's. love is where i reside with our almost. love is where you exist. where you feed me with the same excuses, where you had my soul shattered into pieces. love is whenever i write you poems, love is when i cry myself at night with all the things i cannot fathom because of your mixed signals. love is when i knew we weren't made for each other, but i keep believing in my fantasies as though blinding my spirit with fallacies. love is when i finally realized how much it damaged me thinking you were whom the deity tattooed my soul into. forever clothed in my arms, forever haunting my heart
...and forever finding you in every spaces i walk into. regardless of the fact that i'll never end up with you, i kept searching your existence in someone else's existence because maybe, i'll finally prevail the idea of my reverie. and by reverie, it is a dream i always have—wherein you and i, finally converged.
"he was my first love, foolish of me, because he will ever be."
—swevenry.
