I’ve moved on, but even after three years, I’m still not over him. My friends ask me why I’ve held on so long and what made him so special and how long do I think it’ll take to forget him.
I don’t think they fully understand how much of an impression a first love can have on you. I can’t help that I think about him, dream about him. I can’t help that I’ve compared him with every guy after him.
It’s not one of those things I can control, turn on and off like a switch… he’s just embedded in me, you know? He’s a part of me that I couldn’t ever imagine to change or separate. He’s a fact, non-negotiable. He’s the exact shade of light blue veins on the inside my wrists. He’s my more ticklish rib, my favorite song, my lucky number. He is the Nth amendment, the metric system, the laws of motion, he is scripture. He’s like my eye color, my date of birth. He’s my middle name.