Betsy Brodyhg

A Collection of Firsts

Betsy Brodyhg
A Collection of Firsts

“Why is your heart so guarded?” he asks me.

And I tell him. I tell him about the first time I met a boy, and the first time that he broke my heart. I tell him about the first time that I poured all of my love into one being, and the first time that one being took my love and gave it to someone else. I tell him about the first time I was so heartbroken that I forgot to cry, and the first time I realized that giving your all to someone else is never a smart move.

But I also tell him about the first time I remembered what it was like to be free, and the first time I picked up the pieces of my own heart. I tell him about the first time I loved myself without approval from others, and the first time I learned to be my own person.

And for the first time, he tells me that he understands.


The first time we kissed was like the eruption of a volcano; it was beautiful while it lasted, but the only thing left in its wake was disaster.


Your first real heartbreak may not come from your first love.

It may come from the one you thought loved you most;

The one who used to tuck you in at night and read you bedtime stories.

It could be the same one that you spent your entire life building a home inside of,

Only to let them light that home on fire in the blink of an eye,

Lighting your heart on fire as well.


The first time you meet someone, you never truly meet them. You meet the best version of them; the version of themselves that they wish they could be all the time. You do not meet the version that has spent countless hours crying, or the version whose insecurities control their every move.

And sometimes, the first time you meet someone will be the only time you enjoy their presence. But other times, you will continue to meet someone time and time again, until your souls are so intertwined that you could never imagine life without them.

 

Written by H. G.