This is timely, because I was just cleaning out an old drawer and found a bunch of my old journals. One of them contained the personal narrative of my first kiss. It was hysterical to read again (I was a tad dramatic). But I was a freshman in high school, and I'd liked this sophomore boy for so long. Our families used to be good friends, and they were over for dinner one night. I went up to my room to get something, and he followed me. And then he confessed that he had feelings for me, and we kissed. It's funny to think back on, because I remember the giddy feeling- I don't think I stopped smiling for 24 hours straight. In retrospect, he was kind of a pig who wound up totally treating me like crap, but that night? That night, I was on Cloud Nine.
As is often the case, my first kiss and my first love are two different people, separated by about 3 years. I met this boy in junior year, but it wasn't until senior year that I realized my feelings for him. He's just the kind of guy that I'm completely comfortable with, you know? Like, we were close, and I just knew that becoming more than friends would be the easiest thing in the world. But nothing ever happened, and nothing probably ever will- it's just my luck that my first love would be an unrequited love. And however pathetic this may sound, I still have some feelings for him. So it's not one of those warm and fuzzy, high school sweethearts, soulmate-type love stories. But that's what I've got. I guess I'm still waiting for the future husband from my last post to come and sweep me off my feet!
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