A year ago, I fell completely in love and my heart, wide and free, would chase it for months. Little did I know it would not last, a simple man came into my life and was my boyfriend for a few months. This day I remember now as the day in which I had my first love, a day that October carried to November. I remember those long days going to community college, his early text message waking me up every morning, and then talking to him by Skype in the evening. I was a fool, though I loved him and a part of me even now still does. A part that was created that day, a part that died later on, but it never went away. My heart grew heavy because I was taken advantage of and I forgave when I shouldn’t have been too forgiving. The guilt is mine to bear, though I know I’m not the only one bearing it. He cheated more than once and was immature to do so, though always honest enough to tell me. He had pride in who he was even though I suspect that his home wasn’t always accepting. New Jersey, what a place, I knew he lived on the outskirts of this enormous city, New York City, and he took pride in being Gay, in being himself around others and that led to mistrust in a long distance relationship. The lies, all the deception made out of what was supposed to be an extraordinary first that never fully became. It’s the past though, now and forever. We don’t take pride in the fact of how much life hurts us sometimes until we find that people we love and or have loved are as much a part of us as our minds are to others. I’ve been angry and bitter for a little too long, not acknowledging the fact of what changed in those moments. I certainly don’t hate him even though he thought I might of, but I never have. I’ve experienced a lot, more than some should ever know, and that is a part of my story that I share all too well with the rest of the world.