Letter to my first love
Dear S,
It's been four years since we last saw one another. Looking back to our time together I feel so naive, I knew then almost nothing of love. You must know that love did not come easy to me, as a child of a broken home I didn't know what love could look like. I didn't even know what it felt like to feel in love.
Our love story resembles a cheesy romance novel. The first night we met, we were both traveling for different reason, we had been left by our traveling companions that had introduced us the night before. We decided to spend our evening together, as to not be alone.
After dinner we pitched our chairs out in a nearby field, a weather forecast had predicted a meteor storm. As we watched the falling stars fill the sky we talked about life, about values, our families, about what we believe. The cold of night was creeping in but we were not done talking. When we finally couldn't stand the cold it was time to wish each other good night. There was a moment then and there. A tension in the air, a silence drawn on too long, a longing in our eyes for someone to do something. I wanted nothing more but to kiss you, but I didn't. What was I so afraid of?
It could have ended there, but I knew that I would regret that decision the rest of my life. I asked if you wanted to have breakfast together, you said yes. You were scheduled to fly back home after breakfast. We had to say our goodbyes again. It was a friendly goodbye, like good friends would say. I hated myself.
My self-sabotage seemed so strong I didn't know how to overcome it. Back then I did not have the language to describe how I felt, or spoke a language of love to express my interest in you. My past had left its scars, scars that I only learned to heal a few years after we said our final goodbyes.
I couldn't leave it there, my mind was buzzing with you. You're such a kind soul. So bright with life. You have a curiosity in people, a curiosity in the world that I find so beautiful. Your friends adore you. Your jokes are their own brand of bad dad-joke and it was always you that laughed the hardest. That made them extra funny to me.
I messaged you asking if I could come visit you, you said yes. Yes to someone you had only really talked to for one night, now spending a week together. It seems a little crazy in hindsight but it felt right at the time. I booked my train ticket and went. The first two days passed somewhat uneventful, two friend enjoying each others time. On the third day we had drinks at a bar with a couple of your friends. After leaving the bar we passed a square with music and couples dancing. We stopped to watch them, none in our party dared to enter the dancing pit. The other dancers clearly had some moves, dancing in styles I don't even know the name of. A friend of yours made a remark about this all being foreplay.
Most of your friends left, and it started raining. A stranger walked up to you and asked you for a dance, my heart skipped a beat but thankfully you declined. The rain got worse, people started to leave but the music remained. I asked if you wanted to dance, you said yes. We danced, in a style that should not be named, but we danced.
The rain had really drenched us, we quickly made our way back home to change out of our cold and clammy clothes. We curled up under a blanket to warm up. I grabbed your hand, it was still cold from the rain, you looked a little confused. Was I making a move? After all this time? My heart was in my throat. I kissed you and you kissed me back. That was when we switched from friends to lovers.
When the week was over, we had to say our goodbyes. But it wasn't a real goodbye, we were not ready for it to end. Two months after returning I find myself in a plane on my way to you. In those two months you had moved to a new country with a new job and new life. When I saw you again I wasn't sure if your feelings for me had changed. You seemed a little unsure as well, or maybe that was my insecurity. The day I arrived we were preparing lunch together. You hugged from behind while I was making an omelette at the stove. I grabbed your hand that was on my stomach, turned around and we kissed. It remember it was electric, a chill rolled down my spine, became lightheaded. You said my omelette was the best you ever tasted, I didn't believe you.
Why recount these moments to you now, why do I feel like writing them down? These are the moments that keep playing back in my head, when I am feeling most lonely. Dreaming of a future we could have had. Maybe writing them down I can process them.
We went skiing, we made love, we went hiking, it was amazing. Suddenly it was valentines day, I bought you chocolates and wrote you a card. I had never done that for someone.
One of our final nights you were distraught, you were facing a question I had been avoiding. What will happen with us after this week? Our love wasn't very practical, you just started a new job here and I mine at home. We only really spent a little more than two weeks together. It didn't make sense to upend our lives so drastically, it didn't seem rational.
This reasoning seemed sound to me at the time, it was hard but I felt that this made sense. How naive I was, how stupid I feel now that I was not able to value your love. Deep down I was still that scared man, that man afraid to kiss you, afraid of life.
We didn't see each other again after that week.
Sometimes I check to see if you've changed your profile picture. Afraid I find you with someone else. A year passes and one of us reaches out, ask how things have been. You tell me you're dating someone, and it is getting serious. That stung, what an idiot I've been to let you go. At the same time I'm happy for you.
I have loved and been loved since then, but it doesn't seem to stick. I keep finding myself alone and thinking of that first love, our love. I understand it is just a mythical one, one that has a continued life inside of my mind, being shaped by longing and loneliness until it resembles a perfect love.
It makes me hopeful that I can find such love again.
With love,
J