The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect to fall for the fact that you always hold my hand first,
Before you even kiss me
Or wrap your arms around me.
I didn’t expect to fall for the way you watch me when I trace the bones in your body,
Giving each its specific, anatomical name.
I didn’t expect that every time I looked at the stars,
I’d try and find Orion’s Belt
Because you have these three freckles that connect like a constellation on your chest.
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect to find myself thinking about your voice,
Or the scruff on your chin,
And how it felt when it’d brush against mine every time you kissed me.
I didn’t expect your smile to become a force
That could weaken me to my core,
And fill me with warmth and a quickened heart beat.
I didn’t expect that every time I saw the lights from Hartford,
I’d be thinking of your laugh when I couldn’t stop admiring the view from your house.
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect I’d fall so hard for you.

My mother always compared my anxiety to an idling motor.
It runs through my body when I’m not moving or in a complete state of calm,
But then one thing triggers the gas and the motor is jolted into an angry roar.
They say that the body can only panic for a maximum of 20 minutes,
But my body stays in a constant buzzing of anxiety.

The first kiss with someone other than your ex,
Will be like the pages of a new book.
It’ll be something untouched by the hands that used to touch you.
It’ll be page after page of a story that’s still being written.

The first kiss after a breakup will bring the hoard of butterflies back to your body.
It’ll ignite the engine in your heart that’s been suffocating from lack of attention.
It’ll reawaken the excitement and lust you’ve been missing.

But, that first kiss might find itself blowing out the candle in your newly beating heart.
It might crawl through your neurons, up your spine, and into your brain
So that it can open up the memories you tried so hard to close away.

That first kiss might scream at you,
YOU’RE NOT READY TO BE LOVED AGAIN,
Even as it’s pushing your body for a second touch of another's lips.

They told me not to get attached to you,
But now I keep writing poems about you in my head.
I said the first time would be the only time,
Until it turned into the second time which turned into the third,
And now every time I see the skyline of the city,
I think of you.

Please do not call yourself a rebound.
A rebound is a disgusting sound that screams out after a breakup,
It’s a call for attention to the heartbreak.
You were not that.
You were the first full breath of fresh air after running a marathon.
You were a resurrection, an awakening.
Yes, I was fragile.
Yes, I was vulnerable.
But you did not take advantage of me.
Your touch didn’t take me from my body,
It grounded me.
Your mouth did not shrink me down,
It allowed the confidence to bloom inside of me.
With you,
I saw my five foot frame grow to heights I never imagined reaching.
With you,
I was not a hollowed out shell of a love that used to exist.
With you,
I was a human who owned their body,
Who could fight wars with her words,
Who could live forever.
So, please, do not call yourself a rebound,
Because a rebound does not bring comfort,
A rebound does not bring light,
A rebound does not bring growth,
But you,
You do.