I met my first love very young, and as luck would have it, we evolved together. Sometimes we moved in different directions, and sometimes in perfect accord. No matter how hard my day was, I could hide in my room and share all of my problems. I was never judged, never condemned, and always told things would be all right.
Then my love and I would immerse ourselves in imagination, be someone else for a change. Fight other battles.
Heartbreak occurred the day my mother discovered and didn’t understand. She was a practical woman, and quite frankly, my flights of fancy scared her. She cast my love out of my life, and forbade me to follow after. I sought comfort from others, and instead of reassurance, I heard, “You can’t.” The reasons changed, but no one believed. And since they didn’t believe, I stopped believing too.
My heart broke. I cried. I mourned. A piece of me had been ripped asunder. Life wasn’t the same. Why? Why? What harm had we done?
I gave in too easily. I should have fought harder. The one shining, perfect thing in my life, gone for good. Or so I thought. Chin up, I put the past behind me and tried to move on, pretending it was no big deal, pretending to be “normal”. Though sometimes, I thought I caught a glimpse…
I married, had children, and learned of different forms of love. Though my heart was full to bursting for those two precious ones, something was missing, and my thoughts turned to my first love often. My children were and are the joy of my life. And they both loved books and printed words as much as I. They grew up, as children do, and left the nest.
For a while I spent time with my love’s second cousin, a more practical version of what my heart yearned for, just enough to tease me with what I couldn’t have. No, those dreams had died. That ship had sailed. And I wasn’t on it. Turn off imagination and focus mundane tasks.
I found myself alone, and not really sure what to do with my life. Then one day my old love comes to call. “I’m too old,” I say. “Too much time has passed. Maybe if we’d never parted years ago.” Fear. I’m afraid. Do I dare take a chance?
“What’s time got to do with it?” my love asked. “Will you be any younger if you simply give up? I’ve been here waiting all along, I never really went anywhere.”
My children were the ones to encourage me, who cheered me on, and who restored my faith in myself and my abilities. Instead of saying, “You can’t”, the asked, “Why not?”
Quietly, stealthily, I reconnected with my old flame. We spent days together, weeks together, had such adventures, and stayed up late at night. Now, instead of exploring stars and solar systems as we’d done in my youth, we chased bad guys, visited with people who could turn into possums, and delved into the mystery of the eerie violin music haunting a Highland castle.
Then we went public. Folks around the world embraced us and cheered us on.
Though shaking in my shoes, I’ve brought my first love to meet my family, who now smile and tell me how proud they are. They still may not understand, but that’s okay. I get it completely, as I stroll off into the sunset, hand in hand with… my writing.
We lost a lot of years, but we’re finally together.
My first love and I.
Eden Winters, author of the award-winning Diversion series.
Twitter: @EdenWinters1
Wow... You've brought tears to my eyes.
ReplyDeleteNot only do you have your love but you share it with others. You tireless help the rest of us do better and make you feel it... Thank you my friend. Hugs, Z.
You said it so beautifully!
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