First loves.

I don't believe any two are identical.

With the longevity of a whale it could have consumed me.

Mine was an incessant longing, a broken promise. 

Though I'm not sure who would do such a thig, the wounds remain.

I suppose it was lucky, as I'm sure many are only able to experience them from afar. 

I learned what it was to unconditionally love and forgive. 

To never forget a detail, because they all matter so much.

My love was one not received in the intended way, but was acknowledged. 

I learned to be happy for others while inside I wallowed.

And sir, how I wallowed in my loss.

I also learned that was wrong. 

My loss of him happened with him standing directly in front of me.

The worst part of a first love is that it does not ever die. 

Funny, watching your first love with their first love. 

While you yearn to be happy for them, it hurts a bit too much.

I cannot run from him, for that should not be my plight.

I have plagued myself with the idea of moving on, never considering that I may not. 

I now give breath to the part of me that will love him. 

Perhaps it will begin to wither, until it will no longer ache. 

It will reside there, but faded like the waning light of the moon.

The moon will be full at times, but it will not always flood my eyes. 

The full moon only lasts the night, and afterward, 

the sun will dry the dew from the grass as it will my eyes,

and I will love in a different better way.

It is hard to stop loving the light in a sea of darkness,

but in such a darkness you will find yourself to be the light  

that you were always missing.

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.