Believed?

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The first time you told me you loved me, I didn’t even know what that meant. For me, it was safety and cuddles and someone who’d get me chocolates when I scraped my knees and give me their toys when I got tired of mine. I was the girl dancing, with big eyes and stars within; And, I believed you.

Fast forward a few years on, too fast we discover death together. We grow up, we lose our best friend. The world is an abstract of emotions, fleeting. So much so, that the only thing that seems familiar, seems safe, is you. You tell me you love me, even through my hysterics and sedatives, even as scared as you were yourself. Barely a boy; But, I believed you.
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The year you left, I remember staring up at the night sky, a budding teenager desperately searching for answers beyond her age. Even then, I remember hearing your voice through the haze surrounding me. Even then I remember the conviction of the thought that you were out battling demons and that you were one who’d come back at least. Barely a memory; Still, I believed you.

 

I hadn’t cried for two days even amidst all the others mourning. You didn’t have to do anything, just sit by my side to let me lower my walls, to let me break down. You were shaking even as you tried to grip me, as if you could physically pull all the pieces together. You were silent even as you saw me suddenly smile and smooth my face over no matter how disapproving the look on your own face. Your eyes told me stories of galaxies of refuge, of strength and reluctant pride. Barely a feeling; Though, I believed you.

 

When I first read The Notebook, you were Noah for me. I should have realized then that we were doomed. When you told me you loved me, I laughed. You told me again, and I started thinking ‘maybe’. Come eighth time and slowly, I let myself love you. Let myself listen to you. Let myself acknowledge what you could be to me. Barely a thought; However, I believed you.

 

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They thought we were too perfect for such young an age.
Nice now meant giving too much, a noose around your neck. Forever sort of love sounded like you were suffocating.
Your friends wanted you to be there on the other side smoking pot instead of entertaining the wide eyed girl with her irrational love for ice cream.
Your breath now stank of iridescent lies and dangerous highs.

 

The last time you told me you loved me; I stopped believing in love.
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Scattered thoughts. Incomplete sentences.

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Not bodies. Not people. A bundle of feelings. Memories and Moments. Each light that’s snuffed out leaves a permanent shadow in someone else’s life. Numerous dreams lurking in the dark. Wishes suspended in the sky. Leaving the world darker. Changing things in a way that’s never the same again. A song at an end. The notes fading away. Silence. It’s those left behind that have it the hardest. To come to terms that they would never feel a certain way again. All that’s left being a non-existent future turned to dust. Glossy pictures, Painted smiles, Reminding them of time that shined. A string of I love yous and I’m sorry’s. So much left unsaid. A constant hole, nagging in the chest.The father, the mother, the siblings, not one thinking what if. What if it was the last time? What if the next time we saw the other was in a box of intricate wood with the very flag we fought to wave being the one to wrap it tight. A veil between all that was familiar and what is now and would be. Not one life, but a million others tangled. All along never realizing the beauty of the life that had been theirs. Building life from its foundations, always wanting to change its structure, always vying for what they didn’t have. Building life, to die.

“There’s no love like the first.”

Rosemary Rogers said, First romance, first love, is something so special to all of us, both emotionally and physically, that it touches our lives and enriches them forever.

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First loves are as sweet as they are unexpected. They make us vulnerable even while they make us feel as if we are invincible giving us a strength to match the riding high of emotion. It connects with the deepest, most sensual areas of the brain conforming its paradigms to that experience.

Memories of first love are always tumultuous.  Very few experiences in our lives are as intense and overwhelming. They come to us at a time when we are emotional virgins and take us by surprise. There is no warning, no foreword, and no experience to counter the onslaught of emotions that become us. They shape our perspective about the affair and define love for us in a way that stays with us even in the future when we have more hindsight. George Bernard Shaw held that first love is a little foolish and a lot of curiosity. This might be true as in a lot of cases. First loves, by design, usually don’t last. It could be that they mostly happen at times when parental pressure, peer pressure, academic stresses, societal obligations etc. play an important role in our life. Most people, when reunited with their first loves, their couple doesn’t last which proves that most probably it’s the high of the feeling that makes the experience so unforgettable.

Psychologists compare first loves to ‘Imprinting’ which, in Biology is the biological bond made by living beings in a sensitive period of their life. Ducklings for example, start following whatever moving object they see after hatching. They relate this theory of imprinting to humans in such a way, saying that adolescence is that sensitive period for all of us and we imprint to the one who gives us importance and center our entire life around them. This however, is countered by the study that not everyone experiences first love in this period of their life. Also, with the fact that not everyone is strung up on this bond as others. Some people are happy to move on from the feeling, chalking it up as a learning experience. It’s not that these people did not experience the same; just that they let it go. That is where we have the power, the choice to hold on to it and desensitize the experience or to keep the magic inside us forever and let it go. The power to grow magnificent wings; and fly…

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Whatever the case with first loves might be, whether it happens after a string of lovers at the age of thirty or as a virgin at fifteen, they consume you and no matter how much time passes, they stay with you even when you don’t care anymore. You might fall in love again and be very happy about it but there is something about the innocence of discovering the art of living for others for the very first time that marks you deeper than anything else has the power to do so. They take us to a time when the world was spread before us for us to explore and we thought anything was possible. It’s love in its unadulterated form. It might not last forever, it might not withstand the trials of time or be ever growing but in a moment of time, it is our whole world and in that moment, we are infinite.