You think that the world should owe you something, and you start to love him so hard, that you think maybe he is exactly it. So, I guess we can say that this is your first mistake, because the world will never owe you anything, let alone another person.
You think that being in love is something that can be neatly packaged, described, felt. You think it will make your depression slither away into the darkest parts of you, will make the gray skies go blue, will give you a reason to get out of bed. And maybe it does, for a while. Maybe it does until you find out he doesn’t love you back.
You’ve never heard of a ‘first time I fell in love’ story that doesn’t involve two people with the same feelings, the same palm sweaty, butterflies in your stomach, tongue tied, feelings. You want to be dramatic, call this a tragedy, because you were in love and he was your friend.
Just your friend.
The first time you fall in love you’ll think you have a chance; that’s what love does to you, makes you comfortable, makes you confident, makes you write letters and spill thoughts and go all vulnerable even if none of it is obviously reciprocated. He holds your hand once, and you think you could melt into a puddle and let him step on you. None of it mattered. You had never been so stupidly happy.
You like him so much that it makes your chest hurt. You want to bake him things and tell him he is the best person you know, that he is kind and smart and deserves all the good things to happen to him. You, who has been so deft of emotion and warmth, who shies away at any physical affection, want to dig yourself a home in the ribs of this boy. That is your second mistake; people can’t be homes.
The first time your heart is broken you get bitter, angry that he unpacked all your emotions and then didn’t fold them up nice and neat when the ruse was up. You remember him saying that he didn’t like you. So, here was this horrible mess of something warm gone cold. Now you were dumb for trying, for caring, for getting courageous, because being in love is only ever fun if you’re not doing it alone. You wrote poetry and music about selfish unrequited love and wouldn’t look at him in the halls. The friendship fell apart because you couldn’t get over being told no. You thought it would work out perfectly. That was your third mistake, not understanding that his emotions couldn’t be swayed by your desperate wishing and pining.
The first time your heart is broken you learn not to be entitled. You learn that he, the boy you loved, is allowed to not love you back, and you, are allowed to be upset, but not at him, because people own the rights to their own feelings, thoughts, body and you, can only be given permission.
You can love someone all you want, but they do not have to love you back.
