Like a breath of fresh air,
a deep breath, the kind that
is painful to hold in. Even more
to let go.

Loving him wholeheartedly was the hardest thing to do.
With every inch of my brain, body and heart, every crease of my soul, I loved him.
I loved him even when the
bruises and cuts covered my heart in blood.
I loved him even when I shouldn’t have.
Nothing would ever make me leave.

His blood, entwined with mine, tangled in my veins.
I have his eyes. His smile. His attitude.
Two lives completely different,
completely the same.
No, not my first lover.
The first person I loved.