I’m old. The memory isn’t quite what it used to be. I am still sharp as a tack though!
I remember my first love. I met him when I was 13 but never got involved with him until a few years later. He was a different breed; he had brillo pad hair and coke-bottle glasses. Scrawny and wiry to a fault, but he loved me. I was 15 when love hit me like a ton of bricks.
He invited me to a carnival, commonly known as “Lapeer Days“. I was dating another boy at the time, his good friend to be exact. I accepted, since my beau was working or otherwise doing something that was keeping him occupied. I don’t recall the minute details leading up to the moment.
I was on a ride called the “Zippr” with him. He was making me laugh about something dumb. I was never the same after that ride. I had changed; I saw him and myself differently. I was broken but my heart was full. I knew I was in love. It didn’t take long for him to actually ask me out. He was constantly at my parents’ summer home; my folks liked him enough to allow me to go out with him.
As time passed, love grew deeper. I accepted his marriage proposal but we were never wed. He died before we ever got the opportunity…
I’ve not loved the same since.
Today’s post brought to you by the Daily Prompt and the letter “F”.