A story cannot be completely true, for the truth is called fact, and fact is boring. To tell my true high school war story I must wrap and fold the truth in embellishment. Transform monotony and routine into fairytale and adventure. Stories are meant to carry the mind from the usual. In high school there was one thing that made my mind soar and melted away the troubles of life. There is no emotion in the world such as love. The story I lay before you is one of struggle and heartbreak, of the find line between love and hate.


I first met him on one of those perfectly hazy mornings where the horizon is lost in fog. Where the place land meets sky is nothing more than a silver sliver. We spent the boat ride talking, wind in our hair and smiles on our faces. I was young and trapped and he was a free spirit. He was like no one I had ever met, completely aware of himself with no regard to the thoughts of others, and I, was jealous. All my life I had worried about others opinions, based my interests on what I thought they would accept. I hid my true self and masked it with what I felt others wanted. He however, seemed to act against the masses.


There was an instant magnetism between us. We were opposites yet, we fit as if created specifically for the other. His weaknesses were my strengths and what I lacked he possessed in excess. He took my hand, his eyes burning into mine and promised "no matter what, ill make this work." He kept his promise. We spent every waking moment in each others arms and for a time, life was perfect. He was my best friend, my mentor, my hero, and my therapist. He was my first love.


Love, it is a small simple word. A word that holds the indescribable emotion of countless sweethearts that came before, of the endless stream that will follow. Looking at him, being with him, I felt the undying admiration, the utter infatuation, the complete serenity of every love that ever was. Sometimes I felt I might burst with emotion and the memories of my heart would illuminate the night such as no star ever could.


I honestly believed my soul had found its match and we would float through life to our ever after hand in hand. Naïve, I know but my heart was content. On a humid summer afternoon, my world, the one I had grown so accustomed to, dropped out from underneath me. He stood at my door disheveled and dripping with sweat and tears and guilt. My heart dropped to my feet and with one glance I knew my life would never be the same. I asked what was wrong. He shook his head and with a mournful sigh muttered, barely audible, "I can't do this." He turned quickly and was gone. I starred after him for a moment frozen in fear, and shock. I didn't even realize my feet were moving until I noticed houses and trees blur past. I was running, desperately trying to catch what I had already lost.


When I found him he was under a canopy of trees. Sun streaming onto his face cradling magnitude of the moment. It had been too long, we were too young, were the excuses he gave me. I never knew love had a time limit. He pulled me in for one last embrace and we stood there, on the gravel path, beneath the trees and the sunlight and I never wanted to let go. I left him there and walked home alone. The same path that had taken seconds before lay ahead of me never-ending. I finally reached my room and collapsed on my floor and did not move for days. Every ounce of strength was drained.


For weeks I was unable to sleep, or eat. I didn't want to see or speak to anyone. The pain was unbearable and I slowly became numb. I was crushed under the weight of my thoughts and memories. It was a paralyzing sadness that gripped my heart and made me believe I was nothing. I hated him for doing what he did. I wanted to go back in time and change things, make things better. Mend the gaps that had grown between us and live in bliss again. I wanted him to care, to miss me, to want me. Most of all I hated myself. Hated myself for caring, for not being what he wanted, for losing him. I believed for a long time that I needed him to be happy. That without him I was nothing.


Slowly I came to realize that fighting a losing battle was pointless. That what had happened can never be erased. I began to live again. He opened my eyes in more ways then one. Because of him I no longer take the little things for granted. Every moment is a gift to be cherished and not one second should ever be wasted. Now I view autumn leaves spiraling down with awe and soak up the rays of the burning sun eagerly. I listen to the people around me and realize each has a story, a history that I will never understand. He taught me that who I am is all I ever need to be, and changing for anyone else is pointless. I was no longer mourning his loss. He was my first love but there will be more to come. I am who I am because of my past. Each and every day builds upon the experiences of the last. Looking back now with tear-filled eyes a smile dances across my lips. For I know the heartbreak was worth the memories.