This One is For You

You were the first boy I ever loved.

I go back and forth between

believing it was nothing

and feeling like it was everything.

I'm not writing this because I wish things were different.

I'm not writing this to reminisce on the past;

I'm not even really writing it for you.

This is for me: I have to say this—

even if it's just falling into the mystery of the earth.

I need to tell the universe that

you were good to me.

This is for all the moments I spent loving you,

all the times you convinced me that life was worth living,

all the weeks you listened to my fears and

softened me with your words...

I am grateful for you.

I don't know if I ever told you that.

I am grateful.

This is for the morning you looked at me

like you just realized what love was.

This is for us: two kids,

sitting on a rock in the middle of the creek,

wishing timing wasn't everything.

I would've waited a whole lifetime for you.

I thought I had it figured out: Love.

It felt strange and wondrous,

and I sat for weeks on end

pondering how it could be both.

I ran into you last week and realized

that even though it was never going to work out in the end,

you were worth every second I gave to you.

And I think that's all you can really ask for

in a first love.

Most days I don't think of you,

but some days I miss you fiercely.

Some days I wish you were here.