Everyone remembers their first love. The obsessive thought, the over analyzing of every interaction, and especially the moment of reckoning: when they find out. For some this is a moment of destroying anxiety and disappointment, for others it causes a burst of passion and a collision of emotional connection, and for still others it causes an awkward middle ground. An inbetween state of long list of maybes, of flirtatious glances, and confusing body language.
Often falling in love is messy, relationships get complicated, tears are shed, and often hearts are broken. Human being lust after love and yearn for the high of it, yet when it hits us it often knocks us over…
My first love was all consuming. From my perspective she was perfect. She loved poetry, good movies, and long walks. When she smiled I swear my center of gravity shifted, her scent of freshly woven wool and rain left me intoxicated and giggling. She seemed so sure of herself, she walked with firm purpose as if her destiny was tattooed on the inside of her corneas. I could see us together, stretched out on a couch thirty years in the future, drinking tea and discussing politics in hushed voices as to not wake up our hypothetical child that I had (OBVIOUSLY) already named. Of course, now this way of thinking seems ridiculous… Perspective tends to change when you get your heartbroken. However in the moment I was stuck in an imaginary world so sickeningly sweet it oozed cherry sauce and maple syrup.
After falling sharply from cloud nine, I like most people, took a very negative view on love. I felt like the whole experience had been like falling down a very beautiful mountain side. Yes, as I flailed by I had seen some very amazing things, but then I kept falling, bruised and unable to even snapchat the jaw dropping beauty. And yes, at the beginning my stomach had felted flipped, shaken, and exhilaratingly free. But by the end my body was covered in vomits and regret. Gross.
The cute butterflies had turned into toxic moths desperately flapping at my esophagus like a porch light.
Since then, I have fallen in love again.. And again. As a hormonal, overly romantic, gooey eyed teenager I have a habit of falling VERY hard for people. Eight months ago I fell for my boyfriend, someone I never expected to fall for but in the moment it was perfect, and in that moment I was very grateful for my overly intense feelings.
My somewhat heightened emotions have allowed me to find people like my boyfriend that I am so happy to have in my life. I see the good in them, the raw moonlit poetry in their souls. I want the smiles, the tears, the sexy little laughs the come after only the worst of puns. I want someone to love my independence, to be with me and yet be independent with me.
I love the fluidity of the human condition. Our resilient ability to keep searching for “the one" even after the most disastrous heartbreaks. I love the awkward tension before that first kiss, the intertwined sweaty palms that makes pulses jump. I love love. We all love love. Even the most emotionally distant and closed off of us crave it on some level. We all crave the safety the resides in someone else's affection, the warmth in someone else's joy, and that's what makes it all worth it. Because even though sometimes love or "crushes" make me act/talk like an idiot it's worth it. It's worth the heartbreak and the awkward stages of “friendzoning." It's all worth it for that stupid glow, the rising sense of happiness and hope. It's all worth it for that kiss, or that day thirty years in the future curled up on the couch. Because as long as you stay true to yourself and love with pure passion and respect, it will always be worth it.
