my five year first love.

a chronicle of what was meant to be and the mess that it turned into.

How He Asked Me Out

When we started dating I had no idea what love was, nor did I have any intention of entering into a relationship that would change my life and help shape me into the person I am today. All I knew was that the kid I met at that party was better looking and taller than the boys I kissed before him and I wanted him to be my boyfriend.

We had been hooking up for a couple of weeks when he and I went to a pool party at one of his friends. A few of my friends (we went to different high schools so we had entirely different crowds) were at this particular party that night. One friend I had dated briefly just so happen to stop by. We were all in the hot tub, when I noticed it. The boy and I were flirting and it was making him jealous. Not before long he disappeared for a few minutes. When he got back, he stole me away from the hot tub and we went into the pool together. When we were alone, he told me he didn’t like what he saw, that he thought he should be the only guy for me and then he finally asked me to be his girlfriend.

The biggest crush I had ever had on anyone was actually going to amount to something more. I was elated.

I said yes, and we started kissing. Fireworks were going off. Literally. It was July 3rd, 2007. It was perfect. It was going to be bigger than either one of us could have ever imagined.

He Used to Tell Me a Story…

About the second night we hung out.

The second night we hung out, my friend and I had to be home by 11. When we were leaving he said he had to home as well and asked for ride. He sat with me in the backseat, and we held each others’ hand. We were riding the high of sharing our first (several) real kiss(es) earlier that evening. We dropped him off.

A year later he told me that he had ridden his bike to his friend’s house that night and that after we drove away he had to walk all the way back to get it and bring home. In doing so, he missed his curfew and got in trouble, but according to him, the punishment was worth spending those extra ten minutes together.

Upon hearing this, I remember my teenage self believing that act to be the epitome of romance, and I swear I could feel myself fall a little further in love with him. This is one of the purest and most innocent accounts of our mutual infatuation blooming into love that I can recall.

The Night We Met.

The night we met was one in mid-June 2007. I had just finished my junior year of high school and was 17 years old. It was in his friend’s basement. A friend that was famous for the parties his parents let him throw. He was playing pool with another guy. I was playing darts with my friend. I remember comparing the two guys, asking them both their names. I was attracted to him because he was taller, and because his last name was longer. I always wanted an Italian last name. I liked his black polo. I started talking to him. He took to the conversation, and we hit it off. We took a car ride that night. I don’t remember where we went, but I remember his hand on my knee in the backseat. I remember wearing his hat on my head, and the moment he put his number into my prepaid cell phone.

I was smitten, I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t mutual. It was the closest thing to love at first sight I might ever experience in my life.

After he left that night I found out that he had a girlfriend. I still pursued him, though. I didn’t wait on that first text that he was bound to send me eventually. I texted him. We started talking. He broke up with your girlfriend two days later; we hung out for the second time that same night.