There is something to be said for being in love when you’re young, before you realize that life is full of responsibilities, bad hair days, and problems, before you know that the world actually sucks. Every dream you have feels like it’s the only, every kiss feels like the first. There’s a reason for that. Your first love, I imagine, is like tripping on acid for the first time. Everything is beautiful, bright colored, and makes you laugh, just as long as you don’t look in the mirror and see what a freak you really are. 

I remember the first time I felt real skin on skin contact with someone I loved. I was scared that it would be the one defining moment in my life that I would become an adult and that it would change me forever. I lost my virginity to someone that had been with a lot of girls before me, so naturally all I was concerned about was if I was “good” at “it.” 

I was shivering, slightly, the blankets were off the bed. I felt much more naked than I  actually was, despite the fact that I had not a stitch of clothing on. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen me naked. I had shed my proverbial clothes long before that moment, telling him about my hopes and dreams, every thought that popped into my head, a lot of my nasty little secrets, but at that moment, I was nothing but a body housing a wide-eyed, ignorant, but happy 15 year old girl. 

It had taken me 15 years to learn how to talk, walk, think, and be. I thought it was enough time for me to decide to show every part of myself to another person who had done the same. 

The thing about being young and thinking you know who you are is that…. you’re wrong. The older you get, the more you realize that you don’t have a fucking clue about anything. 

I felt him in between my legs. Foreign. It hurt. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I was finally growing up, and becoming an adult…. hurt? I didn’t understand why. I asked him to stop. My 15 year old self bit her lip and tried to fight back hot, hot tears. My phone rang and it was my mom, she was outside waiting for me. I put on my clothes and left, without a word. 

Two months later he broke up with me and I didn’t eat anything but ice cream and my own damn 15 year old tears for weeks.

There is something to be said for being in love when you’re young. It takes 100 lip biting, tear fighting moments for you to understand you’re never going to have half of the answers that you go looking for. You might not even find one.