Hey you,

It’s wild how we’ve been apart longer than we were ever together, yet I can still feel the way your hand fit in mine, riding around in your VW. I couldn’t believe my dad actually let me have a boyfriend—let alone one with a car. We had no clue what we were doing at 16, but we dove in anyway.

Slow rides with slow vibes provided by Kid Cudi, and your moms weed you prayed she wouldn’t notice you’d stolen.

I still think about your mom—how she loved me just because you did. Maybe even when you didn’t, and probably still.

Your sister and I still check in sometimes. I always admired how she looked so sweet but still raised a little hell. And how much she loved her little brother.

I used to dream about our future—would we have a boy or a girl first? Would we stay here or take off somewhere new? It didn’t matter. As long as we were together, I was all in.

Remember when I had to have a waffle, but it was 1pm and the local diner was closed? You drove me an hour away to Denny’s just for me to order chicken fingers and fries. Thanks for meeting me with laughter instead of annoyance in that moment.

When it ended, I was crushed. But even then, I was grateful. Thank you for being my first love, for giving me something so sweet to look back on. It wasn’t forever, but it was real. And that’s enough.

I’m proud of you.

Always, Your first.