Pretentious, Self-Righteous Essays

I don’t feel guilty for the offenses committed against me by men that I had let into my life, as if I had a hand in the heartache they caused me.  I take no credit for others’ weak characters.  I’ll only admit fault in not seeing through their acts.  That is, I can concede that I was too generous when I assumed that a man could be strong enough to do what is right.  I do not feel guilty for making that assumption.  I only feel pain when I discover my folly.

Anyway, that being said, I didn’t always feel this way.  I used to feel as though I had done something wrong, or as if there was something I could have done to make him happy and to make things work.  Once Upon A Time captured the short-lived existence of this youthful, romantic, self-deprecating girl.  She’s dead and gone, and the memory of her makes me sick.

Destined to err… fine.  Doomed to bear the burden of my folly?  No longer.

It just occurred to me that today is the 14-year anniversary of the day I started dating my first boyfriend!  At least,  I think he was my first boyfriend.  At the very least, he was the first boyfriend who ever told me that he loved me and have the feeling requited.

And contrary to what you would probably expect, I won’t recount how it was that we fell in and out of “love”.  I’m here only to remark on the sweet innocence that it is to be in love at the age of thirteen.  I still remember how my heart raced when in his presence, melted when I heard him speak my name, and stopped whenever our eyes met.  I remember the first time we held hands when we walked home together, our first embrace on Valentine’s Day, our first slow dance (to SWV’s Weak) at my best friend’s birthday party, and our first kiss on a Spring afternoon in the park nearby our school.  Every word, every glance, and every touch was so meaningful.  Relationships haven’t been quite as simple ever since.

I imagine one day I’ll experience such rapture again, and until then I’ll fantasize about it like a 13-year year old schoolgirl would.

NB:  I’m not still interested in him.