Love stories , love quotes, love songs and a collection of peoples first love story.
First Love Gone Bad
Once upon a time...
I say was, though, because it's now ancient history. Because all that joy turned bitter and lightness became heavy. It was bad enough to make me start writing poetry.
But some stories need to be told again every now and then.
Once upon a time, when I was a freshman in college, I met a girl. Actually, I'd met her the spring before at a weekend for prospective freshmen at that same college. I remember saying to myself that if I saw her again, I was going to ask her out.
I never did, really. I just wound up hanging out with her a lot, doing homework together and staying up talking. We'd still be up long after everyone had packed up and gone back to their dorm rooms.
One night, after a bad party, we went back to her room. We read stories to each other, and, somewhere around dawn, we kissed. We became a couple.
It's so funny for me to look back on all that now. We were such kids, even though we thought we were adults ready to take on the world.
We spent so much time together that we used to joke we were married, even calling each other husband and wife. Our friends thought we were weird, but we didn't care. Love like that means that you don't give a damn what anyone else thinks; it's just the two of you versus the Universe.
She was my first lover as well as my first love. She was patient with me, eased me through my hang-ups about sex. I started to enjoy my body for the first time; we slept naked, and I can still remember running my hand up and down her beautiful back, her skin like silk.
There's something about falling in love that makes you feel very young and playful. We used to read to each other, always children's stories. Every night was another chapter of Winnie the Pooh or some Dr. Suess. Sometimes we made up our own stories that were about a past history we didn't have.
We thought we were meant for each other.
It went on much longer than it should have. The cracks started to show after a year, when she became more pushy and I became more cowed. There was no more give and take, no more joking about us being married. After two years, I'd transferred to another college; we barely lasted another semester.
She called me one night and we broke up over the phone.
I see her at the weddings of mutual friends and I just heard that she broke up with the guy she started dating a few weeks after we split up. I joked with a friend that she'd call me once, in the middle of the night, as she's done a few times before. Once she called me from Scotland ("Everything here reminded me of you," she said), another time from her parents' house.
I don't have much to say to her anymore.
There's more to the story, of course. I really could go on for pages if I were allowed, telling about anniversary presents and the time we had dinner on a rooftop. I could tell you about the river rafting trip and about the time we took a bath together.
But I don't want to talk about it anymore.
Her name is Lorraine. And sometimes I still miss her.