Autumn dreams reminding me of my first love. My grief in recollection is ticking away.
I have never put him in positive words.
But, the reminiscence I feel is truthfully within.
The day I saw him almost pass me by, October 16, 1996.
He was shy, awkward, almost ready.
His curly black hair, Latin eyes, Dickies, and Cortezs pulled me in.
*It was not in fashion back then to be
Hispanic, so a social community was formed to keep the culture alive.
He had to be to me as I walked up to him, introducing myself as the girl from afar with the crush.
*I will always regret that day in my history of love.
I wish a flash of linear time would have interrupted that single moment and warned me of what was to become.
The next few months were magic.
We shared our passion for music, the pain of our private family lives, and something deeper then could not be defined in our destined adulation.
I would be his First.
His sexual consciousness and devotion was sacred to him.
Him choosing me was an eternal connection we would have no matter how much pain influenced his innocence.
*He would go on to sexually assaulting me in April 1998.
He would call it Rape.
Before the assualt and after the physical, mental, and emotional torture he put me through, I could go directly to that place in time and genuinely feel that reflection of my love and the sadness of our relationship.
He departed into a person of so much anger, rage, hate.
It’s as if someone veiled the light inside his soul.
I knew it wasn’t my love.
He continued to bleed my youth dry.
But, I couldn’t let him go.
Now, The power of my own virtue is peace, forgiveness.
Something I gave him when he contacted me in 2005 (as he did before in January 2001).
He begged me to be his friend, but there was and still remains no point of walking down that incomplete road of what infinitely never was.
“I can never reclaim my love, something I have never done the same. I had to design an artificial heart for the one I was given died when he broke me.” A.C