NEPTUNE BURNS

ALMOST

"Was he your first love?"

the first thought to flit across my mind is to say no. you were a boy, i was a girl: we were friends. it was a crush that tasted of a skinned knee with shaking fingers, lips dripping with a curse word, orange half peeled on the floor. lasted the span of between five and six math classes where numbers danced to form your name till every derivative i could find was your name multiplied by the acceleration of my heartbeats. felt ethereal and cloud-like between the daybreak and still night: the soft waves of barely felt sun with still there cool air soothing and enflaming skin into a pink blush of exhilaration. meant nothing by the end of my finding an exist between the flecks of hazel in your green eyes.

my next thought is to say maybe. you were a bit more than just a boy, i was a bit more than just a girl: we were more than just friends. it was an earthquake that shook my knees to the ground, splitting their bone into shrapnel, tasted of shared oranges, fingertips grazing the inside of my palm, an epicenter of aftershocks screaming from skin contact. laid bare it was a year of hide and seeking with concealed butterflies, flushed faced sputtering messes that left me gasping for air, pressing ourselves against each other to see whose wall broke first, crumbling into rubble too late. felt painful with sharp cuts littering a bruise constantly probed - the ache of healing but refusing to forget the pain; holding your breath as water falls on your face under the shower - the panic from lack of air paired with the ability to get air leaving you lock-kneed and breathing in water; crying into a pillow - silent tears that ripple into a puddle of soft fabric that coaxes you into a numbing sleep with a dampness that scars your face in invisible streaks. meant something between October when our eyes met and January when your eyes sent jolts of adrenaline into my shaking chest.

my next thought is to say yes. you were more than a boy, i was more than a girl: we were more than friends. but what is a first love? is it holding your heart - scared and scarred - peeled open as an orange knowing it will end in devouring teeth cutting you to your knees? is it crying over missed chances stacked neatly before closed eyes? a boy staring at your mouth till you fear your body will burst from heat? hearing him say your name and ignoring him in hopes of hearing him say it again? i always thought a first love was bittersweet but you are espresso strong with no sweet undertone.

so no, i say, he was not my first love - but he almost was. if i could taste the sweetness in my tears this heartbreak would have been enough but you do not deserve to be my first. you are just an almost - but it still aches like a healed bone in winter.

A/N: I'm sorry for being MIA i just needed time to remember why writing means so much to me.