I Like Being With You

I didn’t actually love

this boy.

But he was the first boy I thought

I loved.

We met the summer of 2013. I had just turned 17.

I was visiting California with a friend of mine.

It was the fourth of July in Newport Beach, CA. The city was packed. The sun, beaming. We were roaming the streets, soaking in all of the vibrant energy.

This boy, completely lost, all by himself, walks up to us in his american-themed button-up shirt, ray-ban icons, and old-school camera.

The way he subconsciously lifts his eyebrows & squints his hazel eyes as he speaks, I can still envision it.

We spent the day together.

That weekend, I followed him to San Diego.

Our summer nights were filled with beach bonfires, endless laughs, wild adventures, car rides with no set destination..

Though our time together was cut short, for those brief two and a half weeks, almost every fleeting moment we had, we spent together.

The day came where we said our goodbyes. At the train station.

He wiped away my tears, pulled me in one last time,

for a tight embrace,

comforted me with the words:

“we’ll see each other soon”.

We never did

see each other again.

We explored the idea of


together but for long distance to work, you need an end goal of when the two of you will once again,



And for us, that was nowhere in sight.

It’s been a few years now,

since I’ve even had a single thought of him.

It wasn’t until

I met a boy

the other week who

unveiled the memories,

the memories that I’ve pushed so far away I forgot once existed,

the memories of my

‘first love’.

The resemblance in characteristics.

Carefree. Loving. Fearless. Spirited.


The similarities in the vast emotions I felt.

The emotions that he

brought out in


The way he made it seem as if nothing in that present moment mattered

than to


And in that moment, I liked being

with him.


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