Young Love

It was never going to work. All the fights we had, all the glass shattered against the walls. We were never meant for each other. And she loved another. We were two puzzle pieces placed together in confusion. We knew this wasn’t going to work but we tried anyway. It was considered trying in the beginning, then it became forced. Putting on a tight smile around each other, trying to convince ourselves we were happy.

I think we loved each other too young. It was hot, toxic, obsessive love. It was a trend, young people falling in love. We fell victim to that trend, found each other in the heat of it, we didn’t think it through. Our eyes were blinded from the start, every kiss we shared was electrifying, it felt forbidden. But it didn’t matter to us when every touch we shared felt like the sun was kissing our skin. It was like heaven.

Until we became aware of each other’s faults. The way I knew the look she gave me was no longer innocent love. Our kisses were no longer electrifying but bitter tasting. I could taste her infidelity and my desperation to keep her close. I wanted her to be a caged up bird, and she wanted to travel like the wind. Even then we kept trying, making up many towers of excuses for each other. We thought if we brought another life to the world, giving ourselves a responsibility, we’d rekindle the companion ship we had. But that idea quickly died out too, like an ember out in the pouring rain.

A part of me, the part that loved the little things about her, wanted to keep her close, even at the expense of our happiness. The way I would wake up in the morning and see the back of her head. The sun would shine through the window just right and reflect on her face. Her hair sprawled out on the bed sheets. The smell of her rose watered shampoo, when did her smell get so mature? I didn’t realize that over time I was the only one not changing. We were no longer young innocent lovers, I had been stuck in the past, and I failed to save us. There is no us anymore.

When we walked away from each other, it wasn’t as hard as I expected. It was like we knew it was coming, the time to say goodbye, we felt it. I think we were both relieved. As she finally looked free, I hadn’t realized how restricted and lonely she must’ve been in that cage I locked her in. Her cage being my blinded, obsessive love. As she walked away I didn’t call out for her. As she held another’s hand I didn’t yank her back. We were no longer anything but strangers who had to let go.

I remember walking away too. I had an empty feeling, like I no longer knew my role. But as time passed, I eventually let the complete thought of her go. I’d always remember her, my first love, my young love. Every once and awhile there’d be someone who’d mention her to me, saying how close we were, how good we’d be if we were still together. She was my best friend before she was my memory. She was my best friend before my past lover. But I’d have to disagree with others’ opinions. We would have looked good on the outside, but on the inside, we would have torn each other apart. We could have tried harder, loved more, but the end was inevitable. She was not mine to hoard and I was not the lover she yearned for.

If I could go back to before we fell victim to naive love, I’d have just stayed friends. Then maybe we could’ve sat down and watched movies together. She’d tell me about this guy she liked, and I’d give her the best advice I could give her. We’d come over to each other’s houses and I’d eat with the family, just like we did when we were little. If I could go back, I’d never cage her. I’d ask her how high she wanted to fly, and then I’d build her wings. Goodbye my young love, I’ll see you in the east.

Sincerely,

Your fellow victim of young love