I look at her siting right next to me and I can't help but laugh at the dream-like state we're in. She’s driving us in my father's sports car along the sea shore, and everything seems like a cliché scene from a romantic movie - the sun setting and a generic love song coming off of the radio setting the mood.

She rests her free hand on my leg; grasping tightly she says "I love you" and I smile like the 16-year-old that I am living my first romance.

It makes me realize why people wish they could stay stuck in one single moment forever. I wouldn't mind staying right there; with the wind blowing in my face under the orange sky and no particular place to go.

She stops by the beach and grabs my hand for a stroll. We don't talk much and my face is resting serious. She understands my discomfort with words, so the silence we share fulfills the gaps of everything we might have not yet said. The way she pulls me closer and kisses my head every now and then - a reassurance I appreciate amidst the warmth of unspoken words.

Her arm around my shoulders has become a habit; she enjoys teasing me for being shorter reiterating how perfect my height is for her to hold me like that. I smile shyly every time and from the corner of my eye, I see her amused expression turn into a tender smile.

The touch we share in hotel beds and dormitories. The kisses we steal in empty corridors. Fingers entwined under the covers and tables - these are the little things we share in secret; away from the spotlight and the flashes of unending cameras.
 

This was the way she made me feel.

She: my first love.
She: the one who left.
She: the one who broke my heart.

She. She. She.