I was at my high school when I had my first boyfriend. The strange sparks and butterflies during the course of time were so unforgettable and the magic of it seems unending of happiness. My first guy was my young love, sweet and painful. He was loved by most of the girls in school, and though he didn’t seize the gift of intellect, still everyone adored him. He possessed this innocent nice guy looks, quite mysterious and reserved.

When he had an eye on me, I got the why’s, how’s and jealousy from the girls, even from my best friend. I was wondering too why he liked me. I know, I am not ugly but I am not totally pretty too. I am not that intelligent, not even popular, I was just like the others, the average type.

When we made our relationship officials, we couldn’t escape the attention of other students and teachers.  But then, we enjoyed that moment of serenity with ourselves, small things became meaningful and every moment became worthy. I was in my high leap at that moment; I had my first boyfriend, the first boy who gripped my hand, the first lips kissed my cheeks and the first boy I have ever cared. I thought it would never end.

After months, my first guy has changed. I still feel distraught thinking about what had happened. We never fought over anything, but we have to keep our relationship secret from my parents. That had made me certain to understand that maybe he became tired of pretending that we are just friends. Without notice, he just disappeared from my life.

The bright days became fuzzy, the happy face had nowhere to be found and the fact that he’s no longer mine was horrendous. All I could remember during those painful days were tears. Tears while thinking of him every night, while throwing all the things he gave me, a loss of interest in studying and even my appetite was agitated. My first heartache is undeniably pitiful.

I didn’t know how I handled myself in the situation. I just made it sure that there should be no one in the world to see how I trembled inside; it was the greatest time of learning to be pretending. The campus is a small world for us; we have the same circle of friends, the same activities attended and corridors to meet. Sometimes we just found ourselves staring at each other, but never ever spoke again.

When falling in love with him was magic, forgetting the hurt was also a miracle. I saw him every day in school for two years before we graduated and the heartache became less unbearable. No more pretending and no more trembling inside.

I had lost the feelings for my first love, and yes, it has certainly died.



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