Memories of Sex and Love

The youth of today is convinced that love is intertwined with sex. I disagree. I have loved people that I have had sex with and I have had sex with people that I never loved. As you mature, you realize that sex, even really good sex, is easy to find. Love, true love, is like finding a red tipped needle in a stack of red hay. You’ll overlook it 1000 times if you’re not careful.

The memories of love stay with you long after that person is gone.

I remember my first love and the first time I saw him. I was 6 and he was a ginger. The only kid in the neighborhood that would play with the little cripple girl (no worries, it was a temporary thing!) I remember him coming to my house with his older brother (who liked my older sister) and acting like I was just a normal kid. I loved him from that moment until the moment that he died. I loved him even when I got angry at him for telling people that I had made out with Danny (ewwwww) and I marched down to his house and pulled him out of the shower so he could tell all the neighborhood kids that I didn’t.

I remember my second love (whom I would marry). Somewhere I still have the note he left on my car telling me that he thought I was cute. I remember the first joke he ever told me. I remember our first kiss. I remember him shaving my legs when I was too pregnant to shave them myself. And, although he is physically still living, I loved him until the man I married died inside him. Even when I found the note that he had written to another girl. Even when he sent me to my sister’s funeral alone. I loved him.

I remember my last love. I remember the night we talked on the phone for 4 hours about the moon, and ticks, and dolphins. I will always remember the song Goodnight Moon because it was our song. I remember the smell of him on his shirt and his Adam’s apple (I have a strange affection for Adam’s apples). I remember how my heart would skip a beat every time I heard his voice. And this time, I was the one that died inside me. I stopped being the person that he loved. That’s the saddest of all.

Of those three men, I had sex with one of them. But the other two were just as much loves. Maybe more so. And I will remember them forever.

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