They say you never forget your first love.
I wish they were wrong.
It would be easier to move through the world untouched by the memory of you, unmarked by the love we shared, free of the knowing. But I am not free. I am wrecked, ruined, rewritten by a love so deep, so consuming, that it still burns beneath my skin, long after you have gone.
You were my soulmate. And I was yours.
I don’t say that lightly. I don’t say that in wistful nostalgia, looking back through rose-colored glass. I say it with the weight of every whispered moment, every stolen glance, every aching hour spent waiting for the moment we could be alone. The way our souls moved in rhythm, finding each other across crowded rooms, through the cacophony of obligations and expectations.
I gave you everything. And for so long, I believed you would give me everything in return.
I waited. I hoped. I prayed.
I stood at the edge of our love with my hands outstretched, waiting for you to take them, to pull me into forever. To say, You are mine, and I am yours, and I will choose you, no matter what it takes.
But you never did.
Instead, we lived in the liminal space between what we were and what we were allowed to be. Sneaking kisses under the moon when no one was watching. Walking just a little too far ahead of the others on group trips, letting our fingers brush, our hearts race. Speaking in code, in glances, in the language of longing that only we understood.
You met my family. I met yours. We fit. Perfectly. Seamlessly.
And yet, we were never allowed to fit.
There were always eyes. Always whispers. Always the unspoken but ever-present expectations—never be seen alone, never step outside the bounds, never tarnish the name of the mission, never bring shame. They said it was about honor, about wisdom, about protecting reputations. But it felt like chains.
If we had been anywhere else in the world, we would have dated like normal people. We would have sat across from each other in coffee shops, taken long drives with no destination, spent lazy afternoons wrapped in each other’s arms without guilt.
And maybe, in that world, you would have chosen me.
But we weren’t in that world.
We were in this one.
And in this world, you couldn’t make the same sacrifices for me that I made for you.
I have tried to tell myself that I understand. That it wasn’t personal. That it wasn’t because I wasn’t enough, or because you didn’t love me with the same ferocity that I loved you. But deep down, I don’t believe that.
Because I know what I gave. I know what I lost. I know how many times I reached across the void, sent my signals into the night, hoping you would see them, hoping you would answer.
You never did.
And now, I watch you live the life that should have been ours. With her.
I tell myself not to look. Not to check. Not to see.
But how do you not look at the wreckage of your soul?
How do you not feel the ripples of a love so deep that even now, even after everything, a part of you is still waiting for him to reach back?
Even just for friendship.
Even though you know, deep down, that would never be enough.
Because it was never meant to end this way.
You were my first love. I was yours. And you don’t ever forget your first.
I have tried to untangle myself from the clutches of this grief. I have tried to bury it, to smother it, to tell myself that I have moved on.
But my body remembers.It remembers the way your hands traced the curve of my back, the way your breath warmed my skin on quiet nights beneath the stars. It remembers the safety of your arms, the rhythm of your heartbeat against mine, the way you whispered my name like it was a prayer.
And so it betrays me.
With every full moon, I am back in your embrace, bathed in silver light, swaying to the music of the night.
With every wave that glistens under the sun, I remember the way your eyes caught the light, the way your laughter rippled through the air, bright and golden.
With every rainfall, I am transported to the nights we stood together, soaked and laughing, the world around us fading as we clung to each other.
Even as I long to forget, my body refuses.
It keeps you alive in the scent of damp earth, in the brush of wind against my cheek, in the bloom of every flower that dares to exist in a world without you.
And so I grieve.
Not just for what was, but for what will always be—the love that ruined me, the love that still lingers, the love that even now, I am not sure I want to let go.
Girl Kaleidoscope 