I've never had many crushes. My all-girls school does not provide us with a buffet of guys...for a while I had forgotten what having a crush was, how it felt.

Las year I found it. I'm unsure if I want to call it my first love because nothing happened seriously. You can say that my feeling about him are a pandemonium. Some days I hate it because I let myself get hopeful, only to be shunned and hurt. Other days I feel like I just like him, I accept the fact that he was real and he and I have moved on.

Sometimes a collaboration of my mind and heart feeds me with memories of him and lights a fire that was long ago extinguished. Sometimes I'm in denial, refusing to believe that my first love was unsuccessful, refusing to accept that he was never coming back.

I'm convinced he knows magic. He knows how his brazen walk enchants all girls, he knows how his hair caresses his forehead, making him perfect. He's aware of how his voice is like a lullaby, putting every girl he sees under his spell.

I know why I fell for him. He's a conundrum, intriguing , hard to get. A challenge. But it was stupid of me thinking I could win. There is still desire in me to get him to be mine. It's funny because I promised myself to not be the good girl that falls in love with the player. Then get her heart broken. I wanted to be strong, to unplay the player. But look at how it has me? Pinning away for an empty promise. A promise I broke. When I saw him, my heart lit up. It was as if everything around us was dark but he was covered in golden sunshine. He was like snow, pristine and perfect on top but under his skin was a layer of dirt and pretenses. Yet his cool attitude, his arm around my body as we danced brought me peace. I can not leave out the fact that he was sexy. He was that and more.

When his lush lips kissed mine, the world stopped, his silhouette only visible because of the darkness n the room. How he put his hand on my neck and tipped my head back. I wasn't expecting it. Lust rushed over me, attacking nerve of my body. I wanted to draw him closer and closer until our bodies where together, a passion I had never known before that moment.

I know that when I pulled away, a quizzical look about my face, everything was real but I couldn't believe it. His lips where like chocolate, smooth, silken, and sweet. But that's what I felt. I was sure that what he felt was different, I tasted it in my lips, like the bitter flavor of molasses. It danced on my lips. On my mind. I pushed the thought to the back of my head, convinced myself that everything was great. It worked when I saw Ana, my friend and his cousin, sitting next to me smiling.

“Me preguntó si te podía besar.” He asked me if he should kiss you, she said. A blush rushed to my cheeks.

“¿En serio?” Really? I said. She nodded, still smiling. I was convinced that he liked me then. That we'd be boyfriend and girlfriend in no time.

The idea of being together seemed feasible, at least for me. I thought of that moment as brilliant, full of light and possibility. I made and excuse. The sinchronizity of my birthday being just a few days before the kiss had to mean something, right?

In my daze of love I listened to music and every song and lyric reminded me of him. Of that moment.

The copacetic feeling of having him being my first kiss helped me ignore what was in the back of my mind. You see, he was like a cigarette: addicting. It burned slowly until it went out. My hopes burned slowly until it burned out, leaving me with the butt, the memories, the worst part.


There was no mindfulness. I wanted to dive into his heart, even if it meant I would be locked out of it. Even if it hurt. But that's not what I happened, that's what I wanted. And I never got what I wanted.

Later, after we stopped talking to each other, in a moment of denial I tried to tell myself that the kiss was nothing. Like a hyphen: in the middle, short, and flat.

I was a masochist.