The first boy that I truly loved hurt me in a way where my muscles ached & my skin burnt, but the scars just wouldn’t show. I was certain that he had taken away a vital piece of me, but he was so skillful at what he did that I still to this day look inside myself to understand what’s missing, but can never truly lay my finger on it.
Even though legally I was an adult, all I wanted to do was cradle myself off to sleep like a little child, scared that he might show up again, like the horrible nightmares you wish you could forget. And then he did. Two months later he came back. And I was too mesmerised to realise at that minute that taking him back would do nothing to help me grow.
But that’s the beauty about pain, the more you go through it, the better you are at predicting it. And as soon as our lips touched again after the sixty days’ exile, I knew this was wrong. And I’m glad it didn’t last. I’m glad you came back again, to show me that I was so much more than what you could ever be. I was softer, kinder, and more in love. You breaking my heart made me fall in love with myself. For that I thank you.
I was too afraid to fall when I fell for you. I don’t think I made a wrong decision. I’m glad you were my first. I now look forward to all the love that’ll come my way. I now know that I want to be with someone who loves me like I love myself, not like you claimed to love me.