First. Love.

I just googled “Are there higher rates of suicide on Valentine’s Day?” The answer is NO! But guess what…the number of murders skyrockets!

No. I made that up. But I would think that would make sense, right?

Valentine’s Day is dumb. We all know it. But if you’re in love, it’s definitely fun to rub it in other people’s faces and post disgusting photos gazing into your loved one’s eyes all over social media.

I’m just going through a break up myself. (I don’t wanna talk about it).

I remember my first heartache so vividly.

I was at music camp (with my cello) and I fell in love with a French Bipolar flautist named Alexis who said in a sexy, sexy French accent, “I wear pink and play flute, so Americans theeenk I am gay!” I thought he was amazing. He was angry and passionate and romantic and like no one I had ever met before in Newton, MA. I spent 3 weeks completely ignoring him (which is what you do when you’re 15 and in love). Ignoring him made him fall head over heels for me, of course. And we played Mozart symphonies and stole little flirtatious glances at each other during Orchestra rehearsals.

Before I knew it we were an item but I was so timid I only let him kiss me once. The rest of the time I was a terrible little tease. But we went to a dance together and I felt like I was on some other planet with this boy. He was 16 and unhinged and I was 15 and shy. And all of these feelings were completely foreign to me.

When we had to part ways, because he was only staying for 3 weeks, and I for six, we watched the sun come up over the lake in the morning (I still in my flannel pajamas and he in his pink shirt, of course. Well, I don’t remember, but I assume so). And then I walked him to his bus and cried. He said, “Sweet Erica do not cry…this is just a chapter in your book of life.” He was right but I didn’t understand this and I sobbed all night and locked myself in my cabin and explained to the counselors that I was “going to die from a broken heart.” I was beside myself with sorrow and filled with regret that I had never kissed him again. I wrote to Alexis every day. And I never heard from him again.

At one point, a mutual friend visited him and told me that he kept my letters and he had thrown his flute out the window. But besides that I know nothing about him or his life. And I don’t think he’s on Facebook. But that’s OK. It was a perfect first love. And I never forgot him.

I’m not sure what my point is or if I have one.

Oh yeah. Valentine’s Day. Don’t kill yourself. Or anyone else. If you’re single just think that most likely someone loved you somewhere sometime. And even if it’s a distant memory, it happened. You loved someone. They loved you back. And isn’t that a miracle considering how many people you meet and don’t fall in love with?

Of course, I tend to fall for the guy who throws his flute out the window, but what can ya do. You can’t choose who you fall for. We are who we are. We love what we love. Now, carry on.

PS: Murders tend to increase in proportion to ice cream sales. That’s a real fact I found online.

Love,
Erica

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