The First Time

Love is a feeling. It is also an action. A series of choices. Very intentional movements. Real, true love cannot exist without both the feelings and the actions.

Never in my life has someone chosen to love me (romantically) the first time. They almost always come back. They almost always tell me they’ll change their actions to better love me, because feelings weren’t enough the first time around. But never has someone just done it the first time. No matter how much I beg, ask them to skip everything I know is about to happen, plead that we don’t have to bother with the heartbreak if they can just choose to love me now.

There’s almost always an apology. An admission that what I was asking for wasn’t too much. But apparently, it always seems like too much the first time.

No one has ever deemed me worth the effort the first time. Only once I’m gone. Only when they get lonely. Only once I move on. Only once the damage is done do I seem to be worth it.

For once in my life I just want to be loved the first time.