First Love is supposed to be tender,
And maybe it was once.
But my first love was my only love for more than a decade,
And what I remember most is the anger and tears.
It started with yearning and enchantment,
But as I gave away pieces of myself
(Though he never asked)
I only yearned for being cherished and loved for who I really was.
Through the years, he felt the fires of passion
But not for me.
Slow dread built in my heart with every secretive phone call,
Every long blonde hair on his suit,
Every late day at the office.
I battled myself for years —
Should I leave? Marriage is forever.
But deep in my heart,
Buried under years of “should,”
I knew I was worth more than this.
This wasn’t love,
It was fear.
Maybe my first love should have been myself.
Whatever Comes Next 