My First Kiss

 It was wet. 

It was heartbreaking. 

It's probably terribly cliched of me to say I can't think of my first kiss without feeling the shadow of that heartbreak, if not the excruciating pain of heartache. 

My first kiss was wet, because I couldn't stop crying. It was something that was doomed from the start, and me trying so hard, flailing to keep whatever I could. I was...not chosen, yet again, yet all I could feel was my heart rending into two when I still turned my head, when I still leaned in. 

People might call me crazy. Stupid. Naive. 

I am, all of the above. 

But I was also hurting, curious, and absolutely devastated. Fully aware of what I was walking into, but torn, nonetheless. 

So, yeah. When people talk about first kisses being sad and painful, it's usually becuase they didn't pan out to be anything. My first kiss was sad and painful, because I was already told nothing will pan out from it. 

But we deserve the love that we accept, and the non-love that we accept too. 

I still don’t regret any of it. If anything, it taught me everything that love can be and shouldn’t be. I never thought I would be strong enough nor mature enough to handle this with grace, not had I thought myself capable of love in such a setting. For if I could love someone in this way, despite being torn and hurt and battered by the waves of back and forth; surely, someday, someone would be capable of loving me the same.