Everyone has a first love. Perhaps it was at first sight or maybe it emerged after hanging out a few times but then, suddenly, you were hooked. You’d go to bed and couldn’t get that love out of your head. Your dreams were completely hijacked by it and, upon waking, you still were unable to escape it. You’d wake up
wanting needing more, sometimes so much that sick days were eaten up just so you could spend more time together. Even when your friends inevitably began turning on you as their invitations waned, you cared not. As anyone in your position could only do, you put this love first and going out became a laughable afterthought. You knew it wasn’t your fault but you knew that love always comes first.
I was introduced to my first love by my friend Matt. He’d been talking about her for months, he even had shown me pictures and told me all about her, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Matt went so far as to say that his wife even liked her, but that was more creepy than exciting. It was only after lucky coincidence, or least I saw it as such, although I have a feeling Matt set it up, that I first met her. As expected, it wasn’t love at first sight. Not at all. There was something intriguing about her, something hidden that begged discovery but I’m pretty stubborn once my mind is made up. And yet, I hung out with her a few times anyway and to my own surprise, I fell Converse over heels in love.
Love this strong deserves to be written through the romantic lens of Shakespeare and with the attention to detail of David Foster Wallace and the biting wit of Oscar Wilde, but I fear that justice still would not be served. This monumental love is comparable to that of one hundred death-defying Westleys in pursuit of their Princess Brides. Though my love wasn’t at first sight, it was worth dying for and the macabre side of me wishes I could have just to prove my point. First loves, regardless of the age at which they grip you, are at all times stupid and life-changing. To misquote Sheryl Crow, the first love is the deepest.
And yet, keen reader, you’ve likely noticed the continual use of past tense. Good for you, sad for me. My first love and I separated years ago. She left me desperate and utterly alone and it is only now, with the slightly mended wounds that time has healed, that I can safely revisit the subject. I will never forget her and the time we spent together. It would be impossible. My memories are fond and even though I’ve fallen in love a few times since, I will never truly get over my first and sweetest love, Battlestar Galactica.