"Young love is sacrifice, young love is tough... young love is innocent, young love is us"
I was 15 when I fell in love for the first time. It started as usual, I guess- anticipation, excitement, giddyness, bliss. I do it every single time; resist the notion, resist, resist, and maybe denial will make it go away. Fly against the inevitable. For the sake of appearing strong, never let the cracks show.
Then there's a breaking point; the cracks can only multiply for so long before everything shatters. I was 16, there was no denying that I was head over heels. I was torn; how could I feel so much towards what I said only recently before I wouldn't allow myself to cave to? How could unselfishness suddenly possess me? I didn't think about it, I was caught up in my bliss. We were young lovers, caught in the rapture of exploration and discovery; I was trying to learn everything I could about my love and myself. It was perfect. Head over heels.
And then it was all of a sudden. Discontent didn't grow, it just erupted. My life was shaken. I had to rethink my priorites and what really, truly was important to me. I grew angry at the slight. Furious, even. I had never experienced anger like that, so intense yet all under my control. "I'll prove myself," I said. "I'll show everyone." I wanted to become a woman to be desired, that would be a regretted decision if ever let go.
But anger only can last so long before it wears you down, and I broke silently. It was a while, then I started to regain my strength. And on my rise, our relationship went from a desperate longing to steady once more. I slowly let myself trust, ever so slightly became less weary to tread the once familiar path our love had gone down.
The coming of fall saw a new season, a new chapter in my life. I missed my love, wanted to see my love. My passion never waned. The year went by, I kept content by keeping busy.
Finally, it was almost over. I would be making plans to see my love once more. There were troubles along the road, but it would all be worth it when we would be together once again. In the meantime, I wore a symbol of our love near my heart as well as in it.
And again, it all comes crashing down. Here I was, thinking it would last this time. So many memories buried underneath your skin. I'm trying to stay in love with the whole, when all I can see are the pieces to hold on to, to try and put together.
And I realize, no matter how much I feel, love is never enough. I will always be pushed away for some reason or another, no matter how much I wish to return, to give my heart, to retain those feelings that first entangled me in this beautiful mess.
My turbulent first love is over. There's only so much you can feel before you're utterly exhausted. Only so much you can hope and dream, and be let down. Only so much you can read into everything before you realize you're going into circles, and sometimes things are just the way they are.
They say you never forget your first love. And that a piece of it always stays with you. Indeed, I still love though it hurts to be in love. There's a part of me that, when I opened myself to you, you took over. And it will never let go, as long as we both shall live.
I am 18, and I have finally made up my mind; given my vows. For better or worse, in sickness and in health- I will love you.
I'm still waiting for a sign that my vows really were listened to, and not just heard. That my vows joined the mingling of hundreds, thousands, millions, who feel like their hearts have been displaced, are given to a lost cause.
I'm waiting for Lebanon to tell me it is mine, forever.