First Love. Final Love.

I'm getting married soon to the man I never thought I would find in my lifetime. He's Russian born, raised here, and is the best thing I could ever ask for in my life partner: smart, funny, caring, and incredibly attractive. Just a few of my fave things.  

There will still be memories, and all the writings in between, but they will be memories of a past that I now choose to leave behind, and visit only to remember but never repeat. This is the future and the family I want to build with him and the child(ren) we may have, so to this I commit. 

Not long ago, I remembered my very first real crush. The moment I felt real attraction for someone, for whatever reason. No, it wasn't the boy who treated me for a soda when I was 7. No, it wasn't someone pulling my hair just because.

It was the youngest son of the Ambassador of the Russian Federation, who was in my language school for English. Kid was also a model. As I was (and still am) so very shy, I couldn't even speak to him: just stare at him from a distance, writing sappy love notes I never sent and just being in awe of him, of how beautiful he was and how he would never pay any attention to me. 

My last love, the love I want to last forever and ever and where I'll put in all the work and effort to do so, is also Russian: also beautiful and a man I'm always in awe of, of how wonderful he is and of all the attention and love and healing he gives me. First, and last, love.