They say one can hardly ever forget their first love. Maybe it´s passion, not yet real love. Still, I guess they are right, indeed. After all, according to diverse theorists in both biology and philosophy, learning is a gradual process, and we learn from experience. That means, the only way of having experience in relationships is having relationships. And one never forgets their origins.

    "My first love was nothing like any other", that´s what people usually say in these kinds of stories, right? The truth is that in this love story He was never a guy I wanted to date, not really. I mean, he was good looking, very much so, he was tall, strong, played sports, made me laugh, he did accelerate the beats of my heart, slightly brighten days up. I did love him, in fact. But he felt more often than not as a brother to me, not a lover. Someone to be my example and to take care of me.

​    I remember some of his last days in school, just as he was about to go to college. I couldn´t help but feel melancholic about what was going on, we wouldn´t meet at the courtyard after class and talk about the world anymore. When he played, I wouldn´t be able, even if invited, to watch the games. And he was a really important part of everyday. “What am I gonna do without my best friend next semester?” He stood there, gave me a hug.

    We did our best to not lose contact but after a while I guess we both realized letting go was the best and things worked out as time passed and it happened naturally. But it´s something that I felt like wasn´t really a choice I´d made. The messages on the screen of my phone stopped popping up as I was worried about getting through the school year, making friends in my own classroom, learning a new language, going to parties, health became an important issue.

    Distance at that point had become tolerable, almost comfortable even, and life moved on as always and days went by and the thoughts of him barely bothered to come by. And since then I had become more independent, confident, I felt better walking down the street. Until December that is, when I met him while walking down the street. He didn´t look like Him. He had gotten a new haircut, his voice had a lower pitch, and he had a girlfriend now, who was walking by his side.

    Love didn´t look like love anymore. Love had dropped out of the handball team. Love had a more serious look on his face, he looked more mature, maybe it was the hair. Love didn´t have a familiar look anymore. Love was calmer, quieter. His hug felt colder in a way, almost clumsy-like. While I found the encounter extremely strange and looking at him (or maybe I was already staring) felt unnatural, it seems like he noticed it too.

    Thinking back, I did look different too. I´d gotten glasses, had a new haircut and about half of my hair was dyed. Even with all the studying I believe I also looked slimmer. Life had in fact moved on, and there was nothing either of us could do to take that time back, and the atmosphere of that moment told me that he knew and understood that just as well as I did.

    So all I did was go back home, and cry until I couldn´t any longer.