To My (First) Love

If you love home –  and even if you don’t – there is nothing quite as cozy, as comfortable, as delightful, as that first week back. That week, even the things that would seem mundane, the things that would irritate you –  the sound of cars racing by on the highway, the cuckoo clock that goes off every hour –  seem instead reminders of your own permanence, of how life, your life, will always graciously allow you to step back inside of it, no matter how far you have gone away from it or how long you have left it. 

That’s what he felt like. Home. This is to you, my (first) love.

It doesn’t take more than a minute for people to forget I’m there and fall downright in love with you, your presence was so mesmerizing even I would forget I existed. It’d be your mindful intellect, your eloquent words, capturing everyone’s attention. How lucky am I to have known the heart of such a man. You brought out the best in people, the soul in people.

However, what I loved most about you was what others never got to see. Your quirks that taught me to scoop the foam off the top of a cappuccino. Your intimate use of words in hand written letters that reminded me how important it was to ask my grandmother how the weather was in her pocket of the world. Your habit of always leaving me with a kiss goodbye, quick and soft, like we’d be doing it every day for the rest of our lives. And though I could go on, admiring your obvious handsome looks and obnoxious wit, I’ll stop here.

My first love, believe me when I say: I always think of you, even on my busiest days. I’d be lying if I said I never have those moments; you know, where you catch yourself taken by a memory, and for that split second, it breaks your heart all over again. Despite the heartbreak, my love, I am overwhelmingly in your debt. You were irrationally, impossibly kind to me. And I suppose this is my way of saying, thank you. I cannot tell you what a pleasure it has been to fall in love with you. Despite the many storms and stresses of so many eventful, and some even tragic, years. Thank you. Maybe one day our paths will cross again, and I will tell you how desperately in love I was with you or maybe you’ll even stumble across this letter, and we can laugh about how we broke each other’s hearts.

Cause it's a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. But you realize what's changed, is you.