I used to think that I fell in love too quickly and with any boy that showed me interest. That all changed when I actually fell in love for the first time. I’ve come to learn that it was a different kind of love that I felt in my previous relationships. I cared deeply for them, but it wasn’t the love I have come to know and cherish. Those previous relationships didn’t make me feel like I could say anything without regret. Those relationships didn’t give me the feeling of complete bliss and uncontrollable joy whenever I was with them. I didn’t feel that spark they talk about in cringy romance novels I can never get enough of. I didn’t want to see those boys smiling all the time because of what I said.
I’ve heard that falling in love is one of the most amazing feelings in the world. I saw it in movies and with the people around me and I read about it in books, but nothing prepared me for what it was actually like. Falling in love during the summer of 2019 was everything I could’ve imagined and more. I felt those sparks all the cheesy romance novels talked about and I couldn’t imagine a life without him. I didn’t want one. I once compared it to what it would probably feel like if the Toronto Maple Leafs ever won the Stanley Cup.
That’s why it hurts so much to think about now. Because once you fall in love, the pain of that relationship ending is 1000 times worse than you could ever imagine. The pain of heartbreak.
For me, the idea of running into him makes me nauseous. I know I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from crying and it would push the healing back to the start. I’d run and hide so he wouldn’t see me because I wouldn’t be able to put on a happy face if they approached.
On the days when I really miss him, I pull out the old worn-out grey and orange sweater he gave me because I can momentarily hide behind all the wonderful memories I shared with him, but then I put the sweater back in the box with the pictures, clothes and mementoes as reality sets back in. Wearing that old sweater was like the cloak of invisibility in the Harry Potter series. It was like it hid me from the real world where I was sad, even if it was only for a moment.
One day I won’t open that box and feel all the emotions I felt when I was with him. Instead, I’ll just remember the fond memories as I go through the old pictures that have worn and yellowed over time. The ones I kept on my desk to look at when I was stressed. I’ll smile at the journal entries I made when I was with him and know that a small part of me will always love him, but time heals and I’ll move on eventually.
I’ll fall in love again and hope it sticks, but for now, I still cry from time to time. I avoid the 401 Hill where we went the first time we met. I avoid songs that remind me of him and I still pull out that old grey hoodie that felt like a hug from him every time I wear it.
That grey and orange hoodie won’t leave me, even after I move on and eventually get married. It helped me through the hard times. When I lost a good friend, it was there and I fell asleep in it after crying. When I had a particularly anxious day, I wore it to school, even if it threw off my look because it was like getting a hug from the person I loved.
It’ll remind me of the camping trip I went on with him when I saw a beaver in the wild for the first time swimming in the water next to the tent we froze in. It’ll hold all those memories that were good.
For now, it’ll stay in the clear Rubbermaid tub with the basketball pyjama pants that were always too short for me but I never returned because they had pockets and the grey long sleeve he gave me because I wanted a shirt that smelled like him to sleep with. It’ll sit there with the blue ping pong ball, glow sticks and Twisted Tea bottle caps that I kept from the weekend I went to the trailer with him and his best friends. It’ll be with the envelope that has the pictures that were taken around Christmas that he gave me, the one I framed and kept next to my bed like the people do in the movies because he was the first thing I wanted to see in the morning. That grey and orange sweater still smells like him, mixed with the cigarettes he smoked in his old pickup truck that drove so many places. It’s a smell that feels safe but hurts me at the same time because once it fades, I’ll never have it again. It’ll be gone.
It’s been over a month since I had my heart broken for the first time. I don’t say or type his name because I know I’ll cry. I don’t want those memories to come back. I don’t talk about him with my family. I still can’t watch most romance movies because I don’t like seeing other people in love. At least the people in the movies. The one date I agreed to go on felt like a chore and I couldn’t help but feel guilty despite being single.
Valentine’s Day was spent in my room with an entire chocolate cake and my dog as my date (she got dog treats instead of cake). Country music brings back all the memories of late-night drives and slushie runs and “Build Me Up Buttercup” by The Foundations makes me cry every time without fail so I skip it every time it pops up on my playlist. I spend most of my time watching crime documentaries or making a large playlist of Shane Dawson videos to use as an escape from the sadness I’m feeling. My friends call and text to make sure I’m okay and make me laugh when I’m feeling down. The initial pain is gone, but I still get scared that I’ll run into him in the mall, or somewhere else and I'll break. Small things remind me of him and it stings, but I’ve stopped finding things to put away in the clear Rubbermaid container that holds all the memories.
Falling in love was everything I could have ever hoped for, but no one talks about the heartbreak. The pain and sadness that comes if the relationship ends. Those moments where it feels like you can’t breathe and you don’t know how to live a life without them in it. The feeling that you’ve lost part of you and you’ll never get it back because that person who was so important to you isn't in your life anymore. I replay the last time I saw him. That last kiss goodbye and the “see you soon” when he dropped me off in his old pickup truck. It’s there all the time and I know that one day it’ll stop, but for now, it haunts me the way the rest of the memories do. Like the dreams where he's in them. I’ll never be capable of hating him and I’ll be forever grateful that he was my first love. Falling in love was the easy part, it’s the moving on that’s hard. They say time heals, and for now, all I need is time.
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