“Being someone’s first love may be great, but to be their last is beyond perfect.” ~ Unknown
I have traveled a million miles inside of this heart of mine, and while your name wasn’t the first that was written there, I do hope that it’s the last.
Growing up, I fell into fairy-tales that spun tales about the idealistic romanticism of the first love. Those stories that made us wish on falling stars and had us flying after a boy who never wanted to grow up, but soon I realized that the glass slipper never really fit me anyway, and I was left wondering not about the first love, but about the one who would be my last.
I wondered if such a thing existed and if love was something that could be depended upon as the sun rising each new day—and then I met you.
Maybe it wasn’t always easy, and more than likely, we could both say that mistakes were made—but in truth, you began writing your name on my heart with the very first brush of your soft lips against mine. And I knew that even if we weren’t together forever, no one else would affect me in precisely the same way—and though I tried to experiment with that philosophy, in the end I was proven right.
Perhaps I haven’t been around the block that many times, and even fewer have crossed the threshold of my bedroom and with it into my heart, but that doesn’t stop these feelings from coming. I’ve never needed to see all of my options before I knew which were my favorite—and while I did need to try to get over you—the truth is that now I’m hoping you’ll be my last.
You were a love that I never saw coming, yet somehow needed all the same.
In moments of silence, as I tap my fingers against my bare thigh, I have to admit that I am thankful for all of the ill words and turmoil that we have experienced through the years. If we hadn’t, then I might wonder if I only wanted you here because you made my life easier—but we both know that was never the case for either of us.
You woke me up to a world and a woman within myself that I had been scared to acknowledge for far too long. Not always in a way that was comfortable or gentle, but in a manner that I needed all the same.
When I fell in love with the first one to steal my heart, I couldn’t ever explain why I loved him—my answer was always simply that I just did. I had thought that this was true love, the inexplicable magnetism of the heart.
Yet now, I see things differently—and though I may still wear my rose colored glasses more than most, it doesn’t mean that I don’t truly see what it is right in front of me.
I could give a list of all of the reasons why I love you, because I didn’t fall into love with you, but rather awoke to it, realizing that it was inside of me all along.
Perhaps that is the biggest difference about our first love versus our last. Our first, we often fall head over heels into, losing our bearings and not knowing which way is up. But it’s our last love that we wade into slowly, sometimes stepping out all together, before we finally decide to take that plunge under the warm melodious waters.
Maybe sometimes we even know who our last love could be, before we actually decide to take that first step.
Sometimes certain people aren’t meant to be lessons, and maybe they only deserve the best possible version of ourselves—so while perhaps it took longer than expected, I know that now there isn’t any other place I should be than by your side.
I can’t promise perfection—even if I thought that was what you were looking for—because the only thing that I know for certain is that we are two entirely flawed and real people. I don’t love you for only your light, and though I could ramble on about the goodness of your soul, I also could go into detail about your flaws as well.
That’s the thing about a last kind of love—there aren’t any misconceptions about who we want the other person to be for our own needs, because we simply accept them for the person they are.
And though I say I’d like you to be my last—neither of us knows if that will happen or not, but I’d like to go into it thinking that it could be true.
Yet if time decides to wither our connection away into nothing more than dust—or if our love clips our wings instead of letting us soar even farther—then I will keep on loving you long after we’ve parted ways, in a different respect of course, but loving all the same.
I don’t know if you truly will be my last, but I do know that in this moment—as the honeysuckle starts to blossom, and its scent floats my way—there isn’t anyone else who comes close to matching the man you are or the place that you occupy inside of my heart.
So while I can’t say for sure that you will be my last love—I’d still like to believe it’s a possibility.
I’m not here to change destiny or to force a hand that was never meant to be shown, but I do know that sometimes there is something special about two people—something that defines logic—something that every now and then, time can’t even change.
I still can’t explain every nuance to our connection, but I would like to give us time to get to the bottom of everything that exists between us once and for all—even if it takes a lifetime to figure out.
Because although you weren’t my first, I am sincerely hoping that you will be my last.
Author: Kate Rose
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Flickr/Stephanie Overton
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