When I was sixteen, I made friends with a girl named Amber and my casual attraction to women blew up into full force desperate first love. We became hard and fast best friends, and god i was so in love.
And I never told her.
It lasted about a year and half, but it felt like decades. It ended like surgery gone bad, tragic and bloody and sickening.
Nobody forgets their first.
Last week I found a note in my mailbox at work. From Amber. She’s moved back to town to reevaluate her life. She has things she needs to tell me. She wants to see me again.
She never knew I was a sometimes-lesbian. Or at least I never told her. But I doubt it could have been all that hard to figure out. My mom figured it out, for goodness’ sake.
She told me that she dumped her fiance, that she has things to tell me. And to this day, I refuse to believe that she didn’t love me too.
I’m going to see her this weekend.
And already, sitting here, waiting for her email, I’m falling in love again. Please, Amber, be enough of the same girl you were nine years ago. Please come in and take me out of this life, away from Chris and Rachel and the jealousy and the drugs. Please be who I need you to be. I want to fall in love with you.
Please don’t let this hurt.