“And you said you’d come and get me, but you were twenty-five
And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired
Lost to the ‘Lost Boys’ chapter of your life
Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried
To hold on to the days
When you were mine
But the woman who sits by the windowÂ
Has turned out the light.”
They say that you will always remember your first and last love. This is true to the core. As much as I remember the men in between, these two men are etched into my core memory in 4K. They are my bookends.
I waited for him for years. I called him and wrote him, hoping that one day we would find our way back to each other. And when that moment finally arrived, I was taken aback. He was completely broken, carrying the weight of so many terrible things that had happened to him. I didn’t know how to comfort him, how to heal his wounds.
He wanted another moment of intimacy with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Le sigh. I had loved him for so many years that I was nothing but a shell of a person when he left. A part of me was still traumatized, haunted by the fear of abandonment. I couldn’t bear the thought of rekindling what we had, only to have him leave again. I didn’t think I could survive it a second time.
Subconsciously, unbeknownst to me, these two men looked as if they could be brothers. I have a type if you didn’t already know. I’m drawn to tall men, those who stand over six feet, with a fit physique. There’s something about their exotic looks, their tanned skin, and their undeniable handsomeness that captivates me. But it’s not just about their physical appearance.
There’s a certain quality I find irresistible—a mix of semi-bad boy charm and brooding mystery, combined with a deep sensitivity. It’s a combination that both excites and intrigues me, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. These two men, my first and last love, possess that intoxicating blend.
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