My First Love

My First Love.

It started with his eyes. They were average brown, but in them were fireworks. He had so much passion for everything, especially me. Every time he looked at me, his eyes would light up. Almost like he knew he had found his soul mate.  The next thing I fell in love with was his mouth. His lips, so soft and gentle but drove me wild. I wanted his lips. I wanted them on my lips, my neck, and every part of me. Every kiss was so deliberate. As if he only had so many to give. The next were his ears. They listened to my every word. He took in every word like a book he had fallen in love with. As if I were making music when I talked. Next, his hands. When his calloused hands gently moved across my body. When he would grab my face to kiss me, I felt the rough skin but his tender touch kept me sane. I longed for those hands to hold when I was walking alone. Every time we held hands, it reminded me of my father, holding my hand while going through a crowd. How I was the only one he was worried about making it safely to wherever we were going. The next his arms, they were so strong and safe. He would hold me when I was having a bad day. He would squeeze me tight enough to hold my broken pieces together but not make them shatter again. After a long drama filled day he would pick me up and make me feel like he could make everything better. Next was his body. He fit with me. Our movements were synchronized. Our bodies just went together. We each knew what the other was going to do. There was no bumping into each other, because we just knew. When we cuddled, there was this fit. A puzzle piece moment. There were no spaces, no awkward positions. It just was.

After I fell in love with his outsides, I fell in love with his brain. His thinking was just so different. He did not treat me like I was inferior or weaker. At some points, he thought I was smarter and he would admit it. Never stronger, as in muscles, but stronger in holding myself together. He appreciated me and showed it. Next, and the second most important thing was his heart. The one thing that at this point I feared did not love me back. Every thing he did with me was because he wanted to, longed to, needed to be with me. He ached when I wasn’t there just as my heart did when he was gone. His heart was a masterpiece. So persistent, thoughtful, and loving. There wasn’t a time when I didn’t feel like he would be there ready to be my hero. And lastly, his soul, his entire being. He was so enriching, so intangible. As if I could never receive his love back. As if he was beyond this world. An angel sent to rescue me. To save me from myself. To show me my beauty and teach me that love is so incredibly possible and powerful. That I am redeemable.

Falling in love with him. It was a process, it was not love at first sight. It was not his beauty that captured me. It was not his brains, or strength that originally caught my eye. No, it was presence. It was his amazement at everything. His laughter and personality. His wonder and presence in a room. I did not intend to fall in love with him. And when I did, I was so scared to admit it. It took me weeks to admit it to myself. To admit, that I could potentially lose him one day. Or worse, give him up. After admitting it to myself, I had no clue if he felt the same way. If he loved me back. If he would admit to the weakness of love as well. I had no clue what to do.

And so it seemed to be our hundredth date, and like always I had a fantastic time. We sat at his house. We watched an old Disney movie; we felt like kids on top of the world. We made food and danced around. We were madly in love, though neither of us was admitting it. It was such a joyous day. And so at the end of the night, before I was to be home, he walked me out to my car. And I stopped him to sit on the hood of the car, while I stood in front of him. I grabbed both of his hands, still calloused from his work out. I put them on my hips and I scooted in close and held his neck. I then asked him to tell me a secret. Honestly, I hoped he would tell me first. So I could save the embarrassment of saying it first. He decided to tell me a story that made me laugh, as he always did. At this point, he knew it was love. I knew it was love. In that moment, that love gave me something that doesn’t happen often. The bravery, the confidence, the indescribable love, I had for this boy. With every ounce of my being, I gave him a part of myself as I told him, first, that I was absolutely in love with him. He kissed me, so tenderly and lovely. He stopped only to say I know. I pulled back, so scared, so terrified that he didn’t love me back. Scared that I had read everything so wrongly. He kissed me again. Stopped. Grabbed my hands. Pulled me into a hug. And said, “Baby, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that.”