I’ve mentioned B here several times. I’ve known him since we were in fifth grade; we “went out”. He was then my first real boyfriend in high school.
It’s really hard for me when I try to write about him here because I don’t think some post on a little blog can really do any justice to what he means to me. He was the first real and true love in my life, someone I desperately needed and cared about. I was a loud, awkward mess and dear God, he wanted to be with me. Me.
I have all these memories from our errant youth and constantly become annoyed with him when a story registers a blank on his radar. I do have a steel cage memory, but I think someone may have partaken in a little too much recreational behavior in college which caused our beautiful memories to be forever erased. Yet, despite my encyclopedic recollection of our younger years, I cannot remember why we broke up.
For this, I am thankful. I am sure it was immature and stupid and I don’t really need to relive that. Luckily, nothing happened when we were 17 can undo what we have now.
He can tell me I am acting like a crazy person better than anyone I know; he mocks me when I am being ridiculous and still makes me laugh as he does it. He understands when to stop and just listen and accepts sometimes, no matter what he says, I am prone to throwing myself on live grenades. He laughs at my jokes, relishes my potty mouth and eggs me on. He accepts my love for Fleetwood Mac and I never fail to remind him of all the painful hours of Phish that were forced upon my bleeding ears. He always picks up the phone when I call and in return, I answer his pleading text messages that come as he stands in the aisles of the grocery store. I unflinchingly admit every mistake, triumph and transgression in my life to him; he has seen the very good, the very bad, and the very ugly. He is kind, thoughtful, hysterical, and an absolute anchor in my life.
He also accepts that I have to say this on the internet instead of to him because I find my feelings very scary.
When we broke up in high school, I drowned my sorrow in pints of Chunky Monkey ice cream, lamenting I would never love anyone as much as I loved him. And though I have loved since him, loved differently, I have never loved anyone the same exact way I love him.
I will think of him as I eat my cone today.