My First Love

If I knew the sun wouldn’t come up tomorrow
I’d call you and tell you I miss you;
I would admit to all the times I should have just laid there in your arms.

But then again, I know I would just have a front row seat to heartbreak
From my own miscues,
Because in the end I would have plopped myself in front of the phone
And sit there and stare as I try to remember all the numbers that brought me to the sound of your voice

I would sit there and listen to the dialer tone,
the sound still ringing somewhere in the back of my mind.
Is it because you’ve already hung up
or that I never called?

Still waiting for my phone to blow up with your ringtone,
still waiting for tomorrow to come along.
But I’m sick of waiting to bump into you on the street
somewhere between Broadway and Mt Eden.
Are you waiting too?

We have always been toxic to one another.
We have always been a part of one another.
But I have not heard from you in a few months
and can’t help but question if you think of me too.

I like to say I think of you often,
but that’s the common idea of what a first love would do to us.
Our first love would implant themselves in our chest,
imbed themselves into the folds of our minds;
And we will always remember them as something special
no matter what they have done to us.

You, I bet, never think of me
because the last time I heard from you
I was that bitch on the street.
But the first time you ever saw me,
I was the new girl in Global class,
Walking in a week late.
Little did we know we would end up here two years later.

Though I remember your infectious smile,
Though can I remember all the times we’ve spewed venom haphazardly at each other
I can still recall the moments when you left,
Though I can never remember
how I had lived without knowing who you are before you walked into my life.
Why do the endings always stand out to me?

But if there is one thing I’ve come to learn from my first love;
it is not what I don’t want in a lover,
it is not keeping your distance.
The one lesson I’ve learned from my first love was
it’s okay to miss someone.
Because that’s part of moving on.


Guide that inspired this poem: 


Miss Independent

Wow! So I read this as I listened to "Say something" by a Great Big World ( by coincidence)...and it was strikingly intensifyed even more.... This is a wonderful heart-felt write that ends in truth...

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression. Always let poetry fill your life. Keep expressing your heart.  

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