A Broken Love Story

I met him the summer before I went into the sixth grade. He was one of those guys that you had heard a lot about, but you never knew personally. I had heard stories. Good stories. I heard, and this was what really made me want to know him more, to be his friend, to be more than his friend, was the fact that he was a hero. He had saved me from something, something inexplicable, something I still can't fathom today. So, he had done this amazing thing for me, and I wanted to know him, so that he could save me in a more personal way. So I met him. I wasn't impressed. Looking back now, I must have missed so much about him. He is an impressive person. A wonderful person... gosh I was stupid. I was ignorant. I just wanted a hero. I wasn't ready for a best friend, let alone a lover. I could have been ready. I chose to keep living for myself. Love was about sacrifice. I wasn't about sacrifice. He was though. He was love. I spurned him. A few months later, I got freaked out. I doubted the fact that I had ever been rescued. I pleaded for him. I needed him so desperately. My body literally ached for him. My stomach was in knots. Tears flowed down my face. Panic ate away at all peace that I thought I had. Where was he? Was he still there, did he still call me his friend? After all, I had been a lousy friend. I called someone who was good friends with him. Was this man still there for me? I asked her in fear. She assured me that he still was. He would always be there. Despite the fact I wasn't such a good friend, this guy was loyal. I fell asleep, still nervous. My heart trembled in my chest with fear and excitement. I had to get to know this guy better. I was starting to see what I had originally missed.
We started talking every day. Some days, I would actually spend time getting to know him, rather than just rambling about myself, which was my tendency. The days that I missed him, I blamed on my lack of time. It didn't seem to bother me that even though he was wanting to spend time with me, I could just ignore him and do other things that I wanted to do. This was our friendship through middle school. It was pretty weak. I had a lot of friends who knew him themselves. We would learn about him together. We attempted to make a lifestyle of him. My offering to him was meager in comparison of what he deserved. It was cheap. He deserved the finest of all things I had. I gave him my worship on certain days. I memorized things he said. I tried to live by his example. I knew I could never be good enough. He deserved more than me. Yet, despite it all. He still wanted to be my friend.
In my first year of high school, I, I like every teenage girl wanted romance. He had it. I wanted it from the boy who sat across from me in art, or some other guy from over seas. This man though, he knew romance. He created romance. I found it in him on a summer night. He wooed me. He gave me the moon, he gave me the stars, he gave me a whole summer night sky full of treasures that I admired. He told me I was his. He reassured his affections, his deep deep love, through a curtain of twinkling lights. I found myself, falling in love. Suddenly, I was hungry for him like I never had been before. I wanted to know him even more, transcend this first name basis, this shallow hit and miss friendship and give him my heart. He wanted my heart. Our time together got more frequent. I went out of my way to see him, to know him better. Other people helped me to get to know him better. It was good. Not perfect on my end, but good. I slowly started letting him into different parts of my life. At first, I was just letting him make me a 'better person'. There wasn't much actual change. Then he started pushing me to go beyond just being a nice girl. He wanted me to be like him, and therefore, I did need to change. This guy had an interesting way of pulling me closer to him. It was mainly through the relationship with my mom. Things were falling apart, and I was getting hurt. No one could fathom the pain. But he did. He could comfort me like no one else. I would cry to him, plead with him to help me. To change me. To change her. I was still immature though, and had much to learn. He patiently taught me. I learned to lean on him, to allow him to continue to rescue me from life itself. He taught me to love better. And eventually, he began me greatest teaching and testing in love. In the summer of 2006, this man gave me the pleasure of meeting another young man. His name was Arni. He was cute, and he was a good friend with this guy too. Arni and I had a blooming romance. It was far different from the one I had with this other guy. This other guy loved perfectly, Arni did not. But Arni loved well enough. And he had a different presence than the other man. I could talk to him for hours on the phone. The other man communicated on a different, deeper, level. I could feel Arni's embrace. My other lover held me in a different way. As time went on, I grew to lean more on Arni. Arni had not saved me. His love fell short of my expectations. Yet, I chose him over my other friend and lover many times. Arni had been a way of bringing me closer to the other man, but we ended up drawing each other further from him. My romance with the other man was beginning to grow dimmer. I longed for him less. I didn't miss him as much. Arni seemed to be what I needed. Moments would come where my other lover would catch my eye, would turn my head. He would embrace me in a powerful way that took my breath. I would cling to him for some time, and then let go and walk away. I was playing the harlot. My shame grew.I write this as a broken lover. I miss him. My first. I have strayed far. The distance between us is far and leaves me aching. I can run into his arms again. I know he is waiting. I am waiting myself. I ask him for courage, for courage to break away from myself and from what I want to be his and only his once again. He calls for me. I listen and yearn to be his once more.