We've all been there. We fall in love for the first time, and we fall hard. We think that our partner is the one; we think we're going to be together forever. And then, one day, it all falls apart.
Why it ended isn't important, but the aftermath of it is. Whether the break-up is mutual or not, there are many, many tears. I remember crying so hard that my chest hurt. It honestly felt like my heart was breaking, and in that moment, I knew that I had been in love - really in love - for the first time.
That emotional pain wasn't even the worst part. Going places that we went together, doing things that we always did together, eating his favorite food, hearing a song or watching a TV show or movie that reminded me of him - even seeing his favorite color would send me into a downward spiral of sadness and longing. But what hurts the most is the parts of him that he left in me, the impact that his person and his existence had on who I am, the way he shaped the person I've become.
We always think they're the best person in the world and that there's no one more perfect or more suited for us. We always see the good in them, ignoring the bad. We accept them - flaws and all, and we love them unconditionally. And when it ended, I felt so betrayed. I was prepared to do whatever I had to do to get him back because I was convinced that there wasn't another soul on this earth for me.
When our first love comes and goes, we experience every stage of the grieving process. We're sad, we're angry, we're willing to bargain everything, but in the end, we accept it. I remember being so infuriated and so upset that I told him, "I hope you know that you just lost the best thing that's ever happened to you." And I meant every word. And I still do. In that moment, my self-worth increased tenfold, and I knew that I could do better, that better was out there waiting for me.
I used to call him "the light of my life," and he really was. He was my everything. I had planned every detail of our future together, and I was certain that it would all happen, that my every dream would come true with him by my side. But life happened. The universe interrupted my ignorant bliss to inform me that this wasn't my path and that he wouldn't be walking hand-in-hand with me down it.
What I learned from all of this is that love is very much like a candle. It burns bright and strong in the beginning, illuminating the entire room, but as it burns, it flickers and the flame waivers as the relationship experiences trials and tribulations. If it's meant to be, the wick will burn slowly, melting the surrounding wax little by little, year by year until death welcomes the couple with open arms. If it's only temporary - a lesson learned, if you will - the candle will be blown out either by one person or both people involved.
When my first love ended, I was convinced that the light of my life had burned out, but I realize now that my flame is eternal, that I will always have my own light to guide me and the love I have for myself to hold my heart. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know that my person is still out there, and one day, my flame will meet theirs and though our light may flicker, it will only burn out at the wick's end
