i fell in love when i was fifteen. he was four years my elder, dark eyed and dark haired. inside he was lighter then anyone i had ever met and he made me lighter too. that summer he was my beautiful boy. he would cup my face in his hand and kiss me, tell me he loved me, and i would whisper it back. he would pick me up in his beat down truck and as my long tanned legs climbed in he would grab my thigh, i love you, and i would whisper it back. on a hot august night we spent the night together. he was not my first time but he was my first love, making a tremendous difference when we were wrapped in sheets and kisses. he pulled my naked body close to him, i love you, i parted my lips kissed his ear and whispered it back. that night i had a dream that he took my hand in his. he told me he would never let me go and every day from the pinks and oranges of dawn to dusk he held my hand, never ever letting go. he held my hand through the storms, scared and alone. he held my hand with the birth of children, painful and joyous. he held me hand when the beeping of machines filled our ears, old and dying. he held my hand when we were stiff, lifeless. i awoke that next morning and my bed was cold, i was huddled in the previously sweat soaked sheets. he was gone. i love you, there was no one to whisper it back. i cried. i cried for all the brokenness he had fixed within me that was now twice as shattered. i decided maybe love was only lust but dressed up, played up. and the world of dreams is the only one where you never had to let go. so i never let myself let anyone love me back.