First time.

It was the first time.

I was a mere 19.

Naive enough to repeatedly trust toxic delusions, vigilant enough to know they were nothing more than just that.

I remember it was the first time.

It was cold outside and I thought that was appropriate.

You opened the doors and stood there in shock. You couldn't believe I had shown.

I couldn't believe it either.

I remember how the hug felt. It felt old, but new. This embrace felt like hope, but traces of it reminded me of the old you. Traces of it reminded me of so many other embraces we had that either concluded bad times, or started worse ones. 

But the old newness this embrace held sucked me into you, and the apprehension I felt deep beaneath our wrapped arms and touching cheeks lured me into your treachery and kept my

vigilance at bay.

Embraces turned to looks across the room. Looks across the room turned into knowing glances as we peaked over our glasses and saw the same mischievous look returned.  Those glances increased and our insides began to vibrate and tensions intensified as we all became aware of the forbidness and tragedy of it all. I remember the urgency that ensued shortly thereafter and before we could discuss it, withhold ourselves, or sabatoge our nonexistent potential further, we were giving in.

We ducked around the corner and in an effort to make up for everytime we hadn't but wanted to, or wanted to but couldn't, your lips found mine and together, we began to destroy each other.

After that, we did what we did best. We let each other down time and time again, and just as I thought we could really pull it together, you left, and that was it.

I don't remember much about how it felt, the first time. I remember the erotic panic that came with our crossing boundaries and doing what we shouldnt. I remember the rush of denying my intuition, and risking my heart. What I remember most is not about how our lips felt moving and caressing in a desperate fashion, or how our hands felt through each other's hair. What I remember most is not how a simple kiss could be so far from a simple kiss.  What I remember most is accepting it was the beginning of the end for us, and the first time I thought I could love someone, it hurt.

It was the second time. 

I was 20.

You were patient and I was wrecked and you chose to stay. 

It was sunny out, and I thought that was appropriate.

You knew of my first time. You knew no name, you knew no face, but you knew what I had become because of it and you were desperate to be my second and last time.

I remember thinking that was sweet, but I told you I wasn't worth the time, and you said nonsense.

It all happened very quickly, my second time. I felt a tremendous amount of hope as you continued to stay and choose me even when you had nothing to grab onto.  As time passed, I felt recharged, I felt safe, and I felt a numbness to my first time. You began to fix all the parts I had thought unfixable in the beginning.

I had my doubts, you know.

I remember thinking how good it was. I finally felt like my head was above water, and you were a fresh breath of air. I no longer thought of my first time, and you began to reshape what my future could look like.

It was night when it happened. I had been wondering if we would reach this point. I had felt a satisfaction with us, a comfort that I hadn't known, and I wondered if there would be a confirmation that established this feeling for you and I. 

We stood beneath the stars, the trees bearing witness, and it happened. It wasn't as poetic as I thought it would be, nor did it hold the sparks I had imagined it might, but in it I found a bounding sense of safety and affection and fondness. It was a luxury I had yet to know, and I could not pass it up.

It was sometime later. We were far from each other now, determined we could run on what we had created together. 

I don't remember a lot about the conversation. I do remember the hopelessness that set in as you had sent me flowers, and letters, and sweet nothings from afar, and I still hadn't anything to give. I don't remember a lot about what you said, or I said. I do remember the look in your eyes as you asked me to stay as you had stayed for me, and pleaded with me to make this work. I remember bowing my head as your eyes burned into mine, and I felt tremendous guilt.  

Despite my efforts, I could not give you everything you had so vibrantly and bravely gave me.

What I remember most is not any of these things, but that the second time I thought I could love someone, I ended up destroying them as I had first been destroyed, and it hurt just as bad.

It was the third time.

I was almost 21 now and my efforts in loving and being loved in return had proven futile.

I felt guilt from my second time, but as I began to heal, I felt as though I was manifesting something to give. I felt like I just might have something for someone to hold onto.

It started our dark, and turned light. 

I thought that was very appropriate.

We started our talking late at night. We finished talking early the next morning. We haven't stopped since.

You sauntered in unexpectedly. I was prepared to go out into the year unattached entirely, so that I might give someone something complete, and whole, and I might be able to find that back.

But you were lovely, and you saw me, and made me feel. 

You appealed to every bit of my senses, and I felt a very foreign kind of draw to you. A draw stronger than any time before that. 

It was the third time, but by now, I had forgotten about the first 2.

It was a whirlwind, but it was not rushed.

You had been broken too. 

Your breaker using different forces to crack you, but broken none the less. You let me know this, but I did not see you that way, as you did not see me that way either.

You were perfect for me, and I for you, and that fact did not rely on the past, but what we were now. 

We weren't tragic, or needing fixed.

We were just us. We were new to each other, and we did not dwell on the past.

For the first time, I was too caught up in the present to drag my past into it.

I remember you didn't waste any time and I don't remember the last time I had ever felt so excited. 

We were up high. We gazed upon airplanes taking off and the sky changing colors, talking about sunsets, and futures, and foods, and everything mattered, but nothing mattered. 

We spun around on the top of this place, laughing heartily, forgetting about our

misgivings. I was terrified, but ready. I did not feel just "comfortable" nor did I feel apprehensive. 

My third time felt something all on its own, and my insides were flooded.

You grabbed my waist and pulled me close, and with the sky to bear witness, and the worst of it behind us, it happened.

I knew these were the lips I would want to kiss and the hands that I would want to cup the small of my back for the rest of it all. 

I remember everything about the kiss. It held no lurking suspicions, nor did it foreshadow bad decisions. It didn't feel just safe, or just satisfying.  I felt it open a door I had never opened, and light begin to shine through. 

It had been so long since I wanted to write about someone from a painless standpoint.

Although I remember everything to this day about the kiss, what I remember most is that it was the third time I thought I could love someone, and I did. 

I did.

I smiled to myself and kissed him again.

It was the first time.

.K SG C.