If Only

People are such liars, but sometimes so right.

"Your first love will never be your last one," they say. But my "for you page" in Tick Tock says something different. The relationship between Antonela and Lionel Messi says something different, too. All my dreams, delusions, and the 'childhood friends to lovers' romance books I have read prove the same, as well. So, is it too much to ask to have a first love that will be the last one, too? Is it too much to ask? Because I can't imagine my poor heart going through dozens of relationships, break outs and make outs. I can't imagine my poor skin experiencing the kisses, hugs, and caresses from different man every time. I can't and don't want to imagine it, let alone live it.

So yeah, people were right about this one. "Your first love will never be the last one." And as usually, there are some exceptions that mess up with our minds making us believe we can also be part of those exceptions, but it seems only the luckiest get the chance to be part of it, to live it instead of dream it. I'm in fact happy for them, I really am. It's nice to see how my dreams come true, even if it's not in my reality, but in the reality of someone else. Which is why a can't help but feel jealous, but in a good way, in a way I just wish it would happen to me too, but I lost that chance long ago. Yet, here I am, still wishing that I could be part of those exceptions, as if it were possible – I hate when popular opinions are actually true, because who the heck would believe people stay with their first love forever?

Uhm, not me.
Not the now me, at least. I got that reality check faster that it took me to catch feelings for him... damn me.

The memory of a young boy looking at me with doe eyes introducing himself to me with the most radiant, confident, and beautiful smile I have ever seen fills up my mind.

If only, I hadn't been this stupid ignorant girl. If only, I had been honest with myself, with him. If only, I hadn't given up on him. If only, we had more time...

A tear leaves my left eye and I carefully dry it with my finger trying not to mess up my make up. I make sure my best friend doesn't notice. Luckily, she's sitting on my right side. I chin up and keep pretending that I'm listening to whoever's speaking on the stage.

"How did I become so fucked up, so messed up?" I ask myself, more memories of him flashing inside my mind and before more tears can fall, I'm ripped apart from my trance, the depressive trance that catches me occasionally.

"Gen, are you okay? You look seriously nervous and spaced out."

I'm spaced out, but I'm not nervous at all, not considering that I have to read out my speech in front of our whole class and their relatives.
"Nah, I'm fine, don't worry, I was just lost in my thoughts." I tell my best friend Gabriella, the one sitting on my right side.

"Girl, you better not space out like that when you're up there."

"You know I'll slay; you don't need to put on that act, sis."

"Of course you will, you are my best friend after all. If you don't slay, consider our friendship finished."

Before I can answer to that, our school's director introduces me to the crowd.
"Now, our dear student Genevieve Sukho, the class rep of this year will hold a goodbye speech."

I throw one last look at my best friend; that's our way of communicating.

That look means; I'm going to make you proud. Gabriella throws me a responding look and I get the feeling she's already proud of me – I love this girl so much.

I direct myself to the stage, feeling a little bit uneasy because he's still in my thoughts, but I try to force myself to make this moment only mine, without regrets pestering me, thoughts intoxicating me and memories from people who are and must be far away from me. To do this becomes easier as I'm stepping on the stage and all my classmates cheer for me, each of them screaming and rooting for me. That makes me forget everything else and gives me all the courage I need.