During my recent visit to London I was taken out for lunch by my first love. The love that completely captured my heart and breathed life back into it. My heart had yet to be truly broken (that was to come), but was already cold, hard and sceptical.
We travelled Europe together, climbed ridges and sailed through silent lochs. Each conversation was finished with an instinctive ‘I love you’ devoid of any real consideration for what that meant. We tried to simultaneously pursue our passions in life and learning, and our dreams of- and for- each other.
I’ve since watched from a distance at his successes and failings in this endeavour without me, and he has in turn watched mine. When the next tear was ripped into my heart, he was there to (again) caress my broken heart back to life, to remind me of my worth and beauty, and to help me address my demons.
Do you still love him?
Yes, a completely deep rooted love. A glowing appreciation for what we had, and that I was able to experience all we did together with him. A pleasure for being an integral part of our own journeys and processes of growing, both together and independently. And, most reassuringly, a complete lack of sadness of how it is now. I would not wish it any other way.