One day, you will lose the first love of your life.
You may have predicted this or it may come to you as a shock. It may have be a decision you make or the other makes or you both make. You may have loved them for a month or for your entire life. Irrespective of anything and everything, you will have your first heartbreak sooner or later. And it will hurt.
It will cause stabbing pains in your chest and you’ll hold yourself in a ball under your blankets and muffle your screams into the pillow, eventually soaking it with your tears. You’ll hurt physically and emotionally. There will be a knot in your stomach, or an emptiness, perhaps both. You’ll wonder how that’s possible.
You’ll feel so much anger. Towards them, towards the world, and towards yourself. You will curse and blame everyone and everything, from the stars to your decision to their mistakes and finally you’ll tell yourself that you can fix things if you want to but then you remember that you don’t possess a time machine and you can’t fix the things that were said and done. You’ll hate life for being unfair and you’ll hate them for leaving you in this position when they promised you they wouldn’t ever hurt you and then you’d end up hating yourself for being so in love.
You’ll miss them dearly. You’ll miss them when you wake up because there is no one snoring next to you and you’ll miss them while making dinner because there’s nobody to tease you about your pathetic culinary skills. You’ll think about how you met and drive all the way to the deserted place, which once converted into a despicable small carnival that you once hated, but began loving, because you met him inside the maze and you figured out your way out together and then got bubble mix and ate candy.
You’ll stalk them on social media and see your old photos and their new photos and you’ll see how the smile is still there, with or without you. And that will make you smash your phone, hate them, hate yourself even more. You’ll torture yourself with the sweet memories but the butterflies won’t flutter, instead there will be fresh tears threatening to spill while you’re sitting in your class. That is, if you find the energy to go to class.
You’ll want to spend all days and nights in your bed and on your couch, with smudged eye liner and a messy bun. You’ll live off binge eating pizza and ice cream while watching your favourite movie together and it will make you cry where it once made you laugh. You’ll go off for drives at 2 am, being reckless, thinking about how it’d piss them off seeing you not wearing your seatbelt. You’ll drink down your sorrow and you’ll wake up being hung over them all over again.
Some days will be better than the others. You’ll realise absolutely anything can remind you of them and then you’ll detest your brain a little, but then you’ll realise, you feel a little less miserable. You won’t be okay in a matter of days, but you’ll feel comfort again in hugs and you’ll start smiling again listening to Ed Sheeran.
And then you’ll know that one day, maybe tomorrow, maybe far from now, you will wake up to be happy again.