i spent last weekend with N; my freshman-year ex, the first boy to break my heart. sometimes i think i enjoy making bad decisions, just to see what catastrophes could happen and laugh about them later. but he had asked me to come visit, on a whim, and i had accepted, on a whim. and then there we were, bodies pressed against the wall in a little philadelphia apartment.
“what did you think was going to happen?”
i DIDN’T think; that’s the problem. that’s always my problem. but, surprisingly, there were no catastrophes, unless you count my skinned knee. i had a really good time, and in between exploring the city and laughing and fucking and playfighting, we actually had a meaningful emotional conversation or two. i told him that the reason i never really opened up to him while we were dating was because i was so fucking intimidated by how cool he was, and how he always knew exactly what he was talking about. in return, he told me that i was one of the few people he felt comfortable just being himself and talking in front of, because i was this perfect balance of fun-loving and serious. that means a lot to me, and honestly i was pretty taken aback, because i’d never ever thought of him as shy.
i also told him i was there to try to forget B, and that i just needed the comfort of someone’s warm skin next to mine. but that was a lie, or at least not as true as maybe it should be. it was a fleeting feeling i used as a shield to shove between our bodies; a precaution, so i won’t fall for him again.
it’s a really strange disconnect, to be with someone, to literally be so close that your limbs are entwined, and to know that you’re just not right for each other. to realize that: in a real relationship, neither of you would be happy. but you want it anyway.
i should tell you that you were my first love…
2 years ago