Tell the Story of Your First Love
Love, as we’re taught, is this thing that we make such a big deal of, but really is pretty small. What Love truly is is so much bigger than what we stumble into romantically. My first Love wasn’t Love at all. It was infatuation, admiration, and certainly lust, but Love had little to do with it, now that I think of it retrospectively. We spent a lot of time being happy together, having inside jokes, sharing secrets, making Love, and enjoying each other in a way that was child like and freeing; but what I did with myself, inwardly, that wasn’t an act of Love. I thought he was better than me. I admired him, and that was beautiful, but I also didn’t believe that I deserved him. He shined so bright, but his light didn’t reflect mine. It dimmed it. I couldn’t see my potential or the beauty in who I already was, even though he saw it. I felt unworthy. It took me a long time to understand that my Love for him would never be enough if I didn’t Love myself. It wouldn’t even matter. Now, I understand that Love isn’t a process of emptying your cup to fill another’s, and it can’t truly start until your cup is full. After years of back and forth, crying, trying, stifling, and being confused, my first Love is one of my favorites. It was my first Love that guided me to my first true, unconditional Love: the Love of myself.
The Story of My First Love: My Mother.
I fell in love for the first time when I was 15. He was three years older than me and just a taaaaaad rough around the edges. He was much more experienced than me. He got me drunk for the first time. I skipped school with him for the first time. I missed curfew with him for the first time. Now, sure, this all sounds bad BUT we were in love. The best kind of love possible. The young innocent kind of love that has no boundaries or consequences. We were all for one and one for all. I spent literally every day with him. And I never got tired of him! That, alone, is a true testament to our love! These days I'm sick of someone after an hour. Of course he was bad for me, of course we were polar opposites, of course he was a "bad boy". But bad boys make the best stories right? Shout out to my first love. He was a real one.