It Might Be You

Do you believe in First Love?

I do.

I believe so that “it NEVER dies”.

Unfair it may seem if I’m talking about this when I’m committed or exclusively dating someone.

But I’m not.

And I don’t.

So how did I end up relinquishing again these cloaked memories of my first love? Simply because of his name popping up in my cellphone’s inbox.
Again.

Let’s call him Enzo.
He’s my high school classmate and one of the members of my “all-boy” crew when I was in my seniors (yeah, so punk it up y’all! haha). You see, I was not the “kikay-alash-overly-maarte-and-without-a-nut-brain” type in high school. I was one of the boys. Yet, I dress-up, puts on make-up, screams when my hottie crushes pass by, and eternally loves the color pink. I wondered why on a group of eighteen boys, I was declared their princess. It’s a no-brainer, I was their Queen B. ;)

I taught freshmen girls on cheer-leading competitions, I was often called “ate” by the sophomores and the juniors battled for my attention (of course, their crushes happen to belong in my gang, duh-uh). My senior batch knows me well too (They get to read my articles in the school paper always, and mind-you I was the Miss Match of my batch, rhymes huh :D) Anyway, There was this sophomore who came to me and eagerly showed her interest towards Enzo, I never knew by then that he and I will be “US” someday. So I served as the bridge. And for two months, they began to rattle my brains as to why I felt uneasy when seeing them together. It felt awkward. I so thought it was just another queasy crushing but as months staggered by, it grew into a monstrous feeling that I can’t hide anymore.

Imagine my delight when they broke up. :D

But after graduation, I never saw him again. Until one text message disturbed the sleeping love bird inside of me. As they say, “the rest is history…”

It lasted for eight months. On and off. Well, that’s life (sucks big time!)

I’ve met other guys after Enzo literally disappeared in my life, but as how life sucks, isn’t as hell bad as how memories stab you traitorously. I flip every time I hear Stephen Bishop’s It Might Be You, I feel a sting whenever I smell Bench’s Wired, I stiffen every time I read his name, be it on the credits of a movie’s ending or just plainly a name of a passing Jeepney. Believe it or not, it gets me every time.

But yeah, I can honestly attest that I’ve moved on. Pinky swear.

I just can’t forget the boy with the handsomely brown eyes. I remember one night we went out with friends for a drink. He laid his head on my lap, closed his eyes and asked me to touch his face. I gently stroked every inch of the contours of his face with my fingers… his nose, his eyes, his eyebrows, his lips… letting out a silent promise that I’ll never ever forget how beautiful he is and how much I love him.

Damn I never did forget. Why did I ever make that stupid promise?

I’ve had another boyfriend after him, and I loved him. I never lied every time he would ask me if I still love Enzo, I said “I don’t”. It’s true, but I just never forgot every thing about him. Ever heard of the song “I remember the boy, but I don’t remember the feeling anymore…”?

Yeah, figures.

Now.

Present.

He’s sent me another message. I don’t want to think impulsively because I don’t want to undergo that horribly unpleasant “moving on” that I had to go through. But damn this heart starts barking again. Why Lord?

I guess it really is true. First love never (ever) dies.

Ugh, bummer.