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  • Blame the hormones if you want. In retrospect, it's an easy out.

    First love at 16. Taught be so many things about myself: about the depths to which emotions can attain; about leaving the warm comfort of solipsism—whether conscious or not—to care more about another, even against one's better judgment; about how much missing someone, something once it is gone.

    She was exotic yet familiar, intense and fiery. Freckled and henna-red, so very red. This was reckless love, intense and raw, and seriously real. Described in terms of pain as much as pleasure.

    I know now, years later, that this was love without permanence. Not exactly irresponsible but not reasonable, practical either. Love without consequence (but what is truly without?). This was loving someone so much that it made me want to cry. Next time I felt that was with the birth of my first child.
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