She is the first, first love.
The one that I loved before I learned what love really is.
She is the hurt that I don’t talk about.
She had a name like a car
that she drove straight through the side
of everything I thought I had built.

I loved her with training wheels on,
I loved her in secret,
I loved her so much it felt like I was on fire with it.
I took me three years to fall out of love with her
and another to finally call it “love”.

I wanted to lay down and die for her.
I would have given up anything for her.

When people bring her up I laugh and say, “I thought I loved her once”.
She is the name I don’t say.
If there is a past, I have already forgotten it.
If she asks, tell her it’s okay.