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When I was 17, as many other teens I had a high school girlfriend, that type of chaotic teenage love that's really beautiful and special.
Once when I was at her house I found a notebook when looking around the room waiting, which had pictures, poems and passages dedicated to me
Once when I was at her house I found a notebook when looking around the room waiting, which had pictures, poems and passages dedicated to me
She filled almost every corner with scribbles of my name, love sketches, glued photos of me and us with descriptions of her feelings regarding them, had all manners of poems long and short written throughout it's pages.
But most importantly there was a smaller notebook within.
But most importantly there was a smaller notebook within.
It was her diary, and knowing how long she needs to take a shower, I sat and read it
This was more of our relationship's diary, detailing every day, every fight, every time we made love, every time I yelled, phone slamming, everything good and bad, and her general life
This was more of our relationship's diary, detailing every day, every fight, every time we made love, every time I yelled, phone slamming, everything good and bad, and her general life
It was...... weird to see things from her perspective, to see how she more truly perceived me, detailing aspects of my personality and how I was still a mystery.
To her even admitting she didn't understand my philosophical ramblings entirely but found it interesting nonetheless.
To her even admitting she didn't understand my philosophical ramblings entirely but found it interesting nonetheless.
When I read it I was hit with a very weird mix of emotion, clarity, joy, sadness, love, each page I saw bought it's very own distinct feeling and message in my heart.
But I couldn't read it all, so I quietly put how I found it, then before I left, I stole both of them.
But I couldn't read it all, so I quietly put how I found it, then before I left, I stole both of them.
Why I did it? To this day I don't know, perhaps I saw them as artifacts to my ego inflation, or I just wanted to experience the emotions I felt when reading it over and over again.
I told her the next day I have it, and she was more relieved that her parents hadn't found it.
I told her the next day I have it, and she was more relieved that her parents hadn't found it.
She asked it back, naturally but I refused, saying it was the most beautiful writing I have ever laid eyes on, and eventually I convinced her, the damage was done anyway, I already have read everything.
As time moved on, the relationship soured, life got more complicated.
As time moved on, the relationship soured, life got more complicated.
And eventually we broke up when I was 18.
I deleted everything I had of her, cut all contact, but when it came to the notebook and diary,
I couldn't, I couldn't do it.
They were a reminder of a much more cherished and happier time, and what true love really felt like.
I deleted everything I had of her, cut all contact, but when it came to the notebook and diary,
I couldn't, I couldn't do it.
They were a reminder of a much more cherished and happier time, and what true love really felt like.
I still have the notebook and the diary, stowed away at a bookshelf in my room, and I looked at it from time to time since I was 18.
At first I felt proud, then as time went on sadness, then grief, and finally when I see it no, rare as it may be, I see it with a smile on my face
At first I felt proud, then as time went on sadness, then grief, and finally when I see it no, rare as it may be, I see it with a smile on my face
Letting go of relationships you had when you were young is difficult, because it's synonymous to a dream's death, and eventually it becomes a nightmare.
The idyllic life you thought about, crashes and burns and you are faced with the realization you can't bring it back.
The idyllic life you thought about, crashes and burns and you are faced with the realization you can't bring it back.
When I broke up, I foolishly thought moving was was repressing her from my memory, of just going forward and not looking back.
But past is a bit funny, because it shapes you, you cannot try to not look at it because it would mean not looking at yourself.
But past is a bit funny, because it shapes you, you cannot try to not look at it because it would mean not looking at yourself.
In a sense I moved on, not fully, but I accept that.
It's my firm belief that there's something special about our first relationships, they are our destinies.
Yet it's not always so and we have to make do without it, and we eventually do, such is life and it will always be.
It's my firm belief that there's something special about our first relationships, they are our destinies.
Yet it's not always so and we have to make do without it, and we eventually do, such is life and it will always be.
