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When I began my second relationship of my college years, it was oddly comforting to see he was watching.He’d send me messages asking why I was dating that new person (something I still wonder about myself…worst relationship ever), but something about getting his attention, no matter how small, meant so much.I released balloons, I made silly videos, I forced myself to socialize when all I wanted to do was be sucked in to oblivion.
From that night forward we began to talk daily for hours on end, driving to one another frequently. I was touched as he opened up to me about his battle with depression.
I remember on Monday, April 7th, 2014, he and I spoke for hours and made plans to spend time together on Wednesday when we both had time after work.
I was with my friend at the time and told him I didn’t understand why he was begging to just see me that night—should I just invite him here? I would give anything to go back to that day and just tell him how to get to me.
I’m not sure if I’m just making this up, but I feel I’ve heard it before: “you never recover from your first love.” Do you remember that feeling, falling in love for the first time? I remember walking past him in the hall in middle school, and looking at him felt different from all of the other crushes I’d had in my 13-year-old life.
And how, when it ended, you were sure you’d never recover, never fall in love again? There was something different and beautiful about him.