For years, I've been closed off. No, I don't spend my days like a hermit, watching cable TV, eating a frozen meal, sleeping in a twin bed. What I mean is that years ago, someone hurt me. The boy that I thought was the love of my life walked away-- walked away with another girl. He had been seeing her for a while. I've never forgotten the feeling of hearing their names together. It's like having the wind kicked out of you. Since then, I haven't been able to connect, to feel anything for anyone.

That is until recently.

I met a boy. He was tall-- a little too tall for me to kiss unless he met me half way. He had a goofy smile that lit up any room we were in... any place really. A booth in the dining hall, a desk in the library, a hallway in the classroom building, where I always noticed him standing with his earbuds in, even when I pretended I didn't. His hands were large and traced with veins that I often found myself looking at, wondering how he does things with such big hands. Keyboards must be a nightmare for him. His hair was short, but he was always pushing it out of his face. I never understood why.

I knew the second I met him--through a friend--that I wanted to spend my time with him. The first instance his (abnormally large) hand made contact with the small of my back, I felt something I hadn't in a long time. The first time he pressed his lips to mine, it was more than just a kiss. It was another wall, falling to its base, with no resistance. I wanted to hear him talk all day long. Whether he was talking about sports, school, his family, all I wanted to do was listen. When we would argue, I thought it was minimal. We were never serious. I was so blinded by how perfect he was for me-- a thought I hadn't had in years. He must not've seen me quite as beautifully as I saw him. Every wall fell to the ground, every wall I had spent years building up, crumbled quietly, leaving nothing but a pile of remnants at my feet.

With every wall, he was finding new things that he didn't like. If I didn't say exactly how I feel when I couldn't form the words because I was upset, 'this just wasn't going to work out'. If we talked about my political beliefs, 'this just wasn't going to work out'. If we kept at our nonsense arguments, 'this just wasn't going to work out'. He must not've wanted to hear what I had to say. Our first kiss to him was just that much closer to our last. His hand on my back was just a motion, not a spark.

Just like the boy who I thought was the love of my life, he walked away.

I'm upset and hoping maybe he'll waltz his way back sometime soon, but now that my walls are down, I'm learning some things about myself.

My arguing is an attribute that could get me a great job one day. My political beliefs strengthen how I view the world and how I will continue to grow as a person. I'm trying to work on myself.

So, to the boy who tore down my walls: I'll still think of you, quite a bit. I'll wonder how your family is, how your dog is. I'll wonder how school's going. And hopefully, once I figure out more about myself, one day I'll come to thank you. Thank you for tearing down my walls.