I still remember my first crush, she was this cute little chubby girl from my class, she was funny and always nice to me. I was probably 6 or 7 years old, looking back now it seems so sweet how I was always trying to be a small part of her world, always trying to make myself appear special. She would always invite me to her birthday parties, it didn’t really matter I was the only boy invited. It’s so funny now, more so after I found out later she felt the same. It was a young silly crush, that if it wasn’t for my excruciating good memory, I would no longer remember.
I also remember my first kiss, at 15 years old, standing at another girls’ door, a kiss stolen from me without even realising what was going on. It was something that happened without me even thinking about it, it happened, it lasted for 4 days and then it was over.
The first time I fell in love, love in the full blown sense of the word, was when I had just turned 20. I remember bumping into her on the train, I remember the awkward way I asked her out for the first time, and I remember as if it was yesterday, our first date. It was the first time I didn’t felt afraid, I didn’t over-think everything, the first time It all felt as natural as breathing. From our night out together, to the sunset at the café until the kiss I stole before partying ways. It was all there, simple, carefree, real.
I have been chasing that feeling ever since, maybe sometimes overlooking what might be there, and on others completely exaggerating what isn’t.
I had flings, relationships, and love interests after that first time, but none ever came close to that feeling, to those moments we shared. It’s sad to say, but some pictures will forever be burned into my mind, like ghosts who refuse to leave and cease to haunt me.
How I long to be twenty and carefree again…
Ten years later I ‘m still sitting here writing about something I felt. Completely lost, I’m so different I barely recognise myself. And In truth what I long for is not the one I had before. It’s that feeling, the thrilling rush of adrenaline, the excitement of going with the natural flow. I want all those little silly things that make love real and worth it, not some cheap projection my mind keeps feeding me over and over again.
So in stories of love, and all these silly things, what do I really want?
I just want to be me again, carefree, happy, ready to take the whole world apart just to make it to where I want to be. I don’t want to hurt for no reason, or live in imaginary worlds. I want to smile like nothing else in the world matters, act silly like I am the happiest person alive, I want to feel that, just that. One last time.
Love and silly things, the kind of love that makes me say I don’t want you, I want me, I want the old me, want it so bad it hurts.