He was my first guy friend, my first text-mate-until-dawn-classmate. The first one responsible for the doodle hearts in the back pages of my Algebra notebook. The first to know what my locker combination key in high school was. The first to whom I was being matched to during spin-the-bottle games. the first one who is allowed to fetch me from my house and walk me home, he was my first date, my first heart break, first break-up, HE was, MY FIRST BOYFRIEND.
To you may be having a boyfriend at an early age of fourteen is kinda too forward. Yeah, I was then. All Taylor’s words and lyrics in her song “fifteen” was all I had to say, only a year younger. I don’t know what I felt then. All I know is that he’s the one. The one I was going to marry. The one I will grow old with. I met his family, his friends, his old friends, even his exes. I made an enemy from one of them actually. We were the type of the couple that the “whole” campus has heard of. He was the heartthrob, I was the fortunate one. But I didn’t care. He was always a candidate for pageants; I was always there in the crowd cheering at the top of my lungs for him. Girls envy me, wished they could be me because of that gorgeous boy. I began walking proud, knowing I have this boy walking with me side-by-side. And then we got matured.
We’ve been together for nearly three years. Two years and seven months to be exact. Obstacles came here and there, people became involved and problems arose from almost everywhere. We began losing our grip. But he didn’t give up; I was the one who did. We ended that precious relationship after our graduation, I was harsh, I know. I was sixteen then. He was respectful enough to ask for one last hug. I gave it to him. But I was the one crying, I was stupid letting him go. After that we became friends, but we haven’t seen each other since. He had another’s company and I had mine. All that was left of our love story were the ones written in my diary, when I had the time, I flip through the pages and read how head-over-heels I was with him, picturing how a certain day went, trying to imagine that old feeling I get every time I was around him. Those memories came rushing once I open that book. The innocence and the thrill. I miss it.
It’s been four years since I last heard of him. And now, he’s back.
