Hmmm this is an interesting question as it doesn’t specify what type of love. I could tell you about the young girl that was entirely in love with her Dad that she followed him everywhere. Or about my first and only dog, Spade, an old English sheep dog that came too us wrapped up inside my Dad’s coat a tiny bundle of fur that was apparently a heinz 57 (cross breed) and was never going to grow any higher than your knee…this was not true! I could tell you about my first male best friend who I loved so very dearly or, or I could tell you about the first boyfriend that I fell in love with. My biggest concern about talking about first love is that somewhere over the years we romanticize these things, we make the bare ugly truth, beautiful.
Still, here goes. I suspect I was maybe 14 at the time. The very first time I met him was late on a Friday night, I was getting ready to go out to a nightclub (yeah yeah I know I was underage!) when the doorbell went. It was another male friend, I invited them in, I was home alone at the time and we sat in the living room chatting. I was wearing a long black dress and asked if *first love would mind doing it up at the back for me. We flirted innocently. He had long hair that he wore tied back, he was 16 maybe 17 and working at the local amusements. I don’t know what happened next. I think the next day he turned up at my place alone, we chatted and before I knew it he was becoming something to me.
We went out together for about 6 months. We got on very well and very rarely argued. For some reason finding words to describe him is hard, it’s like I have a private stash of them but they are protected. I protect them because the relationship was perfect, and even now we are still friends. I say perfect not because the relationship was all daisies and glitter, but because it was honest. When the day came when we realised we were too young to settle we were honest and we cut each other free. Not the easiest thing to do and over the first week of our seperation there were a lot of tear and confusion (he would finish work and appear at my door, forgetting we were no longer together. But it’s that honesty that has always stayed with me.
Karen Hayward ©2015