I remember the first time I saw you.

 

I was trying to find a place to fit in, using any outlet I could to find it, and I had signed up for a class that I didnt know I wanted or needed at all.  All I had grown to know was that my mother had asked me to take it, so I did.

 

The first time I walked in, I had expected a singular classroom, computers to type on and use as sources and desks to spend time at while not working, talking and making friends with people Id probably never talk to again.

 

What I got was something I couldnt let go of.

 

You were a junior, a year older than me, and probably the most beautiful thing I had ever hoped to see in my lifetime.  Golden hair that illuminated in the electric lights from the ceiling  Eyes that could drown a sailor in the seas of heaven and hell

 

Everything in you screamed wonderful that for a long moment I remembered telling myself to look away.  I couldnt, no matter.  And I didnt want to look away, despite what I told myself to do.  My heart was racing for the first time, and my cheeks were a color that I was sure I never had on my face before.

 

The only thing I remember panicking about was that you were a girl just like me.  It hadnt crossed my mind, nor had I allowed it to, that I could actually like a woman instead of a guy.

 

I remember thinking that my mother would murder me if she found out that I had a crush on you.

 

The year went by pitifully, and I remember the look in your eye every time I let you down.  I wasnt a good journalist- in fact, I probably made a bad out look stupendous.  I shied away from work, and I was a baby every time you- the editor and chief of the class- tried to come down hard on me.

 

The worst day was probably when you told me that I wouldnt have anything printed again.  Your eyes looked so sad, like I had gone and done something awful and there was no way to repay for the damages done.  I cried that day, but not out of fear or anger or even a mixture of the two.  I cried because that look you gave me hurt me completely, totally, and I was the one to give you that look.

 

It took me the entire year to admit to myself- as well as my friends, who had been new to me at the time- that I liked women more than I did men.  Everything had been changing so fast.  I was growing up faster than my body was, and it scared me beyond belief to think of it.

 

When I turned a year older, some friends made and lost, I learned that you were like me too.  You liked women as much as I did, and I remember that I felt so happy to have something in common with you.  I wanted to ask you to join us at lunch, to talk with you more and show you that I wasnt the child she had come to know the year before.  I wanted to be friends with you, and I wanted you to see me for me.

 

Before I could ask, a close friend told me you had a girlfriend already.  Never had I known a heart to sink so fast as mine had right then.

 

It hurt more to find that you met her last year.

 

Just around the time you met me.

 

I remember that I made an excuse not to sit with my friends that day, finding that it would be hard to ignore the pangs I had felt in my heart each time Id see you, seated across at a different table from where I sat.  I visited pottery, even went to the class I was ditching, as much as I could when I saw where you would sit for lunch- and I usually found where by where she sat.

 

I was pitiful.  I was immature.

 

And I hated myself for avoiding the pain.

 

Eventually I found the strength to stay around my friends, even when you were around where we were.  To spite myself, I tried to forget how you made me feel, tried to forget how seeing you made me long for you endlessly, and I did something that was probably the most childish of all.

 

I asked someone who loved me, and still does, to go out with me.  For the first time, I had a girlfriend.

 

I had someone I was using to stop feeling.

 

At your graduation, I had come from the band section to tell you the truth, to tell you that I couldnt stop thinking about you after all the time that had gone by.  What came out was something that felt more natural, and something Id regretted since.  Im proud of you.  Crograts.  You gave me a hug, the first and last youd ever given me, and left to find her in the rampaging crowd around us.

 

My girlfriend found me moments later, watching you leave.  I switched to glee, happy that she had walked with the other graduates.

 

She didnt say anything to me about what she stumbled upon afterwards.

 

I was almost eighteen, both she and you then graduated from high school, when I had the courage to tell her the truth about why I asked her out.  She understood me.  She loved me.

 

And, for some reason, I wondered why she still did.  Nothing about her has made sense to me.

 

I heard some time later that she had broken up with you.  I was in my final year of high school, working to pass and move on from adolescence, stressed from my mother breathing down my neck about every bad grade on my report card.  For the first time

 

When I turned eighteen, I made a promise to her to tell you of my heart when Id see you next.  I think she was joking at the time, thinking that I wouldnt actually see you again having heard less than a peep from you since that night while you were in your graduation gown.

 

It was only days away from a Pride Prom at a nearby college, and I knew I was going there no matter.  I was destined to go there and give you that pottery project I had worked on just to give you.  When I told you over the internet vaguely what I was going to do, you laughed it off and tried to help me through my skittish nerves, telling me that itd be alright.  I was excited, but scared ****less nonetheless, and you somehow knew how to calm me down.

 

You hoped for me, hoped that I would get what I wanted, and wished me luck.

 

The days before, I endlessly worried that you would look at me and see the child I had been back when I had first met you.  I even cut myself off from the internet, knowing that my shaken nerves would force me to tell you what I was trying so hard to keep from you.

 

Once there, you accepted that I had feelings for you when I bashfully gave you my gift and laughed nervously, only to say- Okay- see you later! and dash off since I had done my duty.  You followed me, and we shared small talk until it was evident that neither or us would talk about it or what I felt.  After the dance had ended, you gave both me and my best friend- my ex- a ride home.

 

During the trip, I had tried to be sneaky about it, asking with roundabout questions that somehow would help me pinpoint what your type was.  I think you saw through me, but you never pointed fingers.  To tell the truth, I had been thankful and depressed about that.

 

It was a few days later when I had the guts to ask my ex what they had talked about on the way to drop her off.  And, even if I hadnt wanted to hear it, I heard the words I knew had been coming.

 

Its been a year, you know.  And nothings changed.

 

It only took eight months before the tears would finally come, if even for a little bit.

 

Soon, Ill have to look you in the eye again, this time more of an adult than last.  I still see you in every face I see and every building I visit.  I still worry that I wont be good enough.  Im still me.

 

And Ill never forget the first time I saw you.








This was written mostly as a trial, but also to get some things off my chest.  This has been going on for years, and its all true.  This is just me being emo... or whatever...  Blah.