When you’re young, it’s all about “firsts”.
First kiss, first boyfriend, first fight, first sleepover, first dance, first car, and of course – first love. When me and my first love got together, I knew things were different. Granted, I was 17 and didn’t know much, but I knew that what we had was special. Despite his reputation for being a “player,” there was no doubt in my mind that I could trust him and no other woman at the time held a candle to me. However, that didn’t stop me from having an unspoken hatred for every girl he dated in his past for the simple fact that they. got. there. first.
Stories about him getting head at the park from some broad that wasn’t even his girlfriend disgusted me (even though I probably would’ve done the same), and I constantly compared myself to any girl that had so much as a crush on him. It was unwarranted, unfair, immature, and I was all about it. The worst part was my self-destructive thinking made me not-so-secretly resent my boyfriend as well.
I was pretty much a virgin when we met, but I was very aware that he was more experienced than I, and it killed me inside. I knew I wasn’t his first. Nor his second. And maybe not even his third. I always felt that because of this, his love for me would never compare to the love I had for him. That he would always have a one-up on me, and something he could use against me in the future. How fucking dumb does that sound? To a 17-year-old in love, it made perfect sense. My immaturity and insecurity allowed every meaningless first from his past trump the fact that I was the first girl he ever LOVED.
Then you get to a certain age, and realize that someone will have always been there before you. That everyone has baggage, whether it be a carry-on or on some Balikbayan Box type shit. You may not even be someone’s first wife or husband at this point. But it’s also at this point where you realize that his firsts are irrelevant. When you’re older, it’s all about “lasts”. Last words, last hugs, last kisses, last good-byes, and of course – last love. Because your first love is the past, but your last love is everything.