I don’t remember what he was wearing that day, but I do remember the first time I heard him laugh, and the way he blushed when I complimented him on it. That day was so out of character for me, his presence must have drawn out some boldness I was previously unaware of. He quoted Frost as we wandered through the shelves of a bookstore, somehow having been separated from the rest of the group. I smiled continuously and tried to look away before he caught me staring. He wasn’t my usual type, but there was something about him that drew me in. I was reluctant to part with him at the end of the day, as he carried my bags to my dorm room and we awkwardly hugged goodnight. We would later realize that day was not actually the first day we met, but would agree that it was the day everything started.
     The next month would consist of many late night instant messenger conversations, a few phone calls, a coffee date, and time spent together whenever possible. It all led up to one day in late September, his birthday to be exact. It was unseasonably warm, so we took a drive up to PJ Hoffmaster beach with a small group. Even without swimsuits we soon all found ourselves jumping in the waves, watching the sunset. He picked me up and threw me in the water, we chased each other through the waves, and it took a few minutes before we realized that everyone else had wandered back to shore. I have a beautiful picture that a friend was kind enough to take, of us walking hand in hand through the waves on our way to rejoin the group. The car ride back marked the first of many times I would fall asleep with my head on his shoulder. When we got back to campus everyone went to change and regroup at Touchdown Mary, the field in the middle of campus. A mutual friend nagged me into asking him to go for a walk when he got back. We wandered over to the pond, engaged in nervous conversation, the ease of the beach seemingly gone under the glare of the stars. We sat on the concrete bench, in awkward silence. It was starting to get a little cooler, and he moved closer. I wished he would kiss me, but I was not going to be the one to make the first move. After what felt like forever his lips finally met mine. We would later laugh, because he had forgotten to spit out his gum. I can never chew mint gum without reliving that memory, at least for a second. He walked me back to my dorm, and from that night on we fell into a comfortable pattern of spending time together whenever possible.
    There are little moments that stick out in my memory. The time my roommate was away and we spent so long kissing each other that I had beard burn for a week. Going on the service trip to New York City together for the first time, sneaking kisses when other group members weren’t looking. I remember the excitement of learning what the different shades of blue and green in his eyes meant. I remember him mouthing the words of a song to me across the table in Little Italy. I remember the night we got back from NYC, and had the whole dorm to ourselves. I remember the butterflies as he unzipped my jeans for the first time, and more butterflies later, the first time he whispered the words “I love you” as I drifted to sleep safe in his arms. I remember meeting his family for the first time, and the warmth that filled me when his mom said she had never seen her son look at someone the way he looked at me. I remember the late night walks to meet him halfway between our dorms and kissing under the lamp posts. I remember counting down the minutes left in class until I could see him again. I had never needed anyone the way I needed him before. We had some rough times too, miscommunications, fights, and too many tears, but right now I’d rather remember the good times. Like our first holidays together. Or the morning we lost our virginity. It was awkward, it was perfect. I remember when the need to kiss him seemed almost as overwhelming as the need to breathe. It would eventually become obvious that we needed to grow apart, to establish ourselves as our own people. But I wish I could preserve some of the better memories we made along the way. I can’t bring myself to part with some of them. The picnic at Riverside Park to celebrate our one year anniversary. The flowers he brought me after my first Children’s Theatre performance. The lazy days spent cuddling while waiting for laundry to finish. The homemade chicken noodle soup he made for my roommate and I when we were sick. The way he constantly believed in the best of me, even when I couldn’t see it. Co-leading the service trip to New York City. The look on his face when I showed up in his room wearing his shirt and tie, a skirt, and thigh highs. When he drunkenly told me he still loved me the night before he left for Ireland. The bracelet he bought me from the Coast Guard Festival. Wearing his clothes. The many trips to Moe’s. The four a.m. pizza hunt. Going to see the Phantom of the Opera. Taking care of him when he got his wisdom teeth out. Kissing on the Brooklyn Bridge. The feel of his hand on the small of my back. The happiness that could be caused only by the sound of his voice. 
     There are so many memories. Over the course of a few years, we had too many experiences to list. We had our moments of bliss and our moments of pain, but I can never bring myself to regret a moment spent with him. He taught me how to feel, to trust, to love. He pushed me to always become a better version of myself. I can only hope that he feels the same way, that for him also the negative can easily be brushed aside with the knowledge of all the positive his presence in my life has brought. We are different people now, at different points in our lives, but I know whatever else this life has in store for me, my first love will always hold a piece of my heart, and I’m okay with that.