Thursday, June 30, 2016

My first love. My only true love.

He wasn't like anyone I had ever met. I stumbled across his webpage by pure accident. I don't recall how we started talking. But I did do a lot of stalking.  He was eccentric. Intriguing. Our first encounter was a little strange and uncomfortable. 

But as I got to know him I became very attached. He was a drug user. A high school dropout. 

He was an artist. A philosopher. An explorer. A book lover. Cat lover. Outgoing. 

We would spend countless hours at the library tucked away in a corner. Staring up at he sky as he got high. Walking along the train talks talking about life. Sitting on his bed shuffling through his collection of books. Trading Stephen Kings book in excitement. 

Walking around the thrift store. Pilling books on the floor. He wasn't like anyone I had met. 

Our first kiss was bitter and sweet. He didn't want a relationship. I had just gotten back with an ex. 

I started drifting away from him. Pulling into myself. Withdrawing. He took my silences as they came. Drifting away from me. 

Time passed. I missed him more then I thought. And then our paths crossed again. 

Countless hours spent at the library. Shuffling through his collection of books. Watching him get high. Walking along the train tracks exploring.

But it different this time. 

He took my hand in his, pulling me to a stop. I turn to look at him. He smiles, his eyes squinting at me. "If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here right now." I'm not sure what to say. I'm happy inside but unsure. 

I couldn't be with him. He wanted more. Somewhere along the line, he decided I was the one. But I was too scared. 

So I left. No words. No nothing. 

He met someone and is now happily married.

I can still remember him clearly. 

Tall. Lanky. Long hair dyed like a sunset. That lopsided smile. The scar on his lip. 

Maybe it was for the best that he was the one that got away 

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