Dear First Him,
I remember idealizing you.
It was easy
to do. Your blue blue eyes and your Grecian nose and your full full lips. I
knew the effect you had on my life was permanent. A deep scar--sensitive scar
tissue that tingled with every rippling memory--a handprint sunk in cement for
the world to remember that Marcela fell in love quickly and loudly, a
firecracker. A reminder that all it took for someone to gain admission into my
heart was a timid smile and a soft touch.
Foolish.
Stupid. Naive. A girl that tripped over her too large shoes on her too small
feet. Bumbling through life and never quite learning. Always trusting too
quickly and too surely.
How many
times must I learn the lesson for it to stick?
But all of this is irrelevant when I find
myself wondering how you are doing. Hoping that you are well and that you are
happy and that you finally finally realized how funny and charming and clever you are. Not many people
saw past your facade but I did. I saw the cracks in your lacquered veneer;
understood there were some things you kept tucked in the darkest corners of
your psyche; never shone a flashlight in those dark corners; respected that
only I saw the real you. I understood the whole picture. I saw it and I got it
and I wanted it. I wanted you. The first boy I loved. The first boy who gave me
courage and who made me feel beautiful. The first boy who held my shy young
unpracticed heart in his careless clumsy immature paws.
My first love.
My first heartache.
My first lesson unlearned.
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