Blast From the Past

The first time I fell in love I was about sixteen years old and I remember the feeling being so intense and overwhelming that I would sometimes cry at night. At first, they were tears of happiness, and then tears of frustration and hopelessness, because, yes, after four months of a very close friendship and the guy confessing that he "was so in love with me", he asked someone else out, literally, two weeks after he professed his love for me. I actually still talk to the dude online once in a while. He lives in a London suburb now, and has a wife, a house and a dog.

He and I reconnected after about four years of not speaking to each other. The only reason we started talking again is because about a year and a half ago I found his email address saved in my old Yahoo! email account and I was curious to find out how the guy was doing. I sent him an email thinking that there was no way that he still used the same account, but to my surprise I received a reply back from him. He was ecstatic to hear from me after all those years. He was nice and pleasant and even sophisticated now, very unlike the seventeen year old teenager I remembered him being the last time I spoke to him.

We exchanged pictures since we were both curious what we looked like now. He was quite handsome, and I seemed to have made quite an impression on him as well. In his own words, "Well, well. You turned into a knockout, didn't ya?"

Over the period of about a year in a half we talked frequently online, mostly during work since, surprisingly enough, his work schedule in the UK and mine here in the US corresponded with each other. I was pretty happy to discover that I no longer had any romantic feelings for him (it would be quite sad if I did after all these years, right?) and I guess it was a form of closure for me. However, I was saddened and even a little disturbed by his passion-less stories of his married life. Again, in his own words, the sex life was "so-so". The whole marriage seemed to me mundane and boring.

I suppose I wish I had a scandalous story to tell in which the guy falls in love with me, leaves his wife and London behind, flies over here and we elope in Vegas or something. Then his wife plots revenge on the home-wrecker who stole her husband (aka me) and hires a Sly Stalone look-alike to chase after me through the backstreets of LA with an ultimate goal being to kill me with his bare hands. I narrowly escape death on a daily basis and my life becomes that of seclusion and temptation. I soon thereafter fall out of love with the guy who left everything and everyone for me and I spiral downwards in a whirlwind of drug-induced midnight orgies in seedy hotels. That is, until a mysterious Samuel Jackson character saves me from a drug overdose only to make me realize that I have a bigger purpose in life. That is where I become a bounty hunter and finally find happiness.

But that wouldn't be my story, though yes, it would make for a great blog entry. And with all of the above being said, the dude still holds a very special place in my heart. After all, he will always, for the rest of my life. be my first love.