A Letter to My First Love

Dear the boy who will forever own a piece of my heart,

People say there is always someone who understands the pain you’re going through. Every piece of me wants to believe it. Every piece of me wants to cling onto those words until they become the truth but I can’t.

I can’t because I watched you feel nothing when I felt everything and we were in the same boat. We sailed the same seas, stuck in out through the same storms and yet you were found on a raft, and I was found washed up on the shore.

You found yourself floating and I found myself sinking.

I can’t let it go. I swear I try, but forgetting the way it felt to hurt over you feels like I’m forgetting the way it felt to love you. Because If I focus on the gut wrenching, tear spilling, mess that I became it helps me to remember why. Why I loved you more than I loved myself.

When I think about it I realized that it was because you were easier for me to love than I was. I never saw your ugly because I was too busy seeing my own.

To me you became this mask that I lived beneath. I would look in the mirror and no longer feel ugly because you covered my face. I felt wanted because when I looked at my hand I would see yours with it and for the first time I didn’t feel alone. You became the part of me that I loved most, the only part of me that I loved at all. 

That’s why I can’t let go. Because you are a part of me that I will never get back. A part that is sunken into your skin that has me begging to touch you again just for some confidence. A part of me that lies upon your lips begging me to kiss you again so I can remember the taste of being wanted. A part of me that incubates in your eyes begging me to stare so I can remember the way it feels to look beautiful. A part of me that wants you again just because I miss the old me.

I know it’s not fair to treat you as gatekeeper for all of the happiness I lost when I lost you but I just have no room to store it. I offered my ugly a place to stay and it kicked my happiness out. My happiness is in you, but it’s not you, and that’s why I can’t look away when I see you in the hallway. Because I’m jealous.

I dream about the day I can speak these words to your flesh and see them appear on your skin but I know it will never come, So I imagine myself slipping a piece of paper under the wipers of your car and watching my words drive off with you but I now it will never happen so I sit in my bed and pour out all the words you will never read onto my sheets and consider them stained. This is my heart I pour out to you and normally I would feel vulnerable but it’s hard to not be honest with a part of yourself.

My heart always,

L.


 






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