It's been a while.
It's been almost a year since we-us-ended.
And I can finally say I'm over you.
I can hug you without lingering for another moment.
I can laugh at your jokes without feeling my stomach doing a backflip.
I can look at you without trying to memorize your imperfect perfections.
I can smile at you without hoping yours will only be directed towards me.
But that doesn't mean I still don't think about you.
I still hope you're okay physically and mentally.
I wonder if you and your friends still share those terrible inside jokes.
I wish your family all the happiness they deserve.
I loved you, and somewhere in my heart, I always will.
But I know, now, that this wasn't meant to be.
This wasn't everlasting.
This wasn't my perfect match.
I know, now, that you were my first.
But you weren't my last.
YOU ARE READING
The First
Short Story"I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say." ~Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca You were the first one. And no matter how hard I try, I can never forget.
