He called me besos. Kisses, for all the love he intended on giving me. 6th grade pre pubescence and the beginning of adolescent awkwardness didn't phase him; he saw I needed love. He was everything a girl could ask for.This "t" hung from his neck like a broken halo. Sin swarmed in his heart like fire flies in those clear bottles we used to play with on summer nights.At 12, he was my first love. As I grew older, I expected that love to grow from easy to complex. But it didn't; it stayed as simple as childhood.
He was the only man that might give you a little more bread on communion if you didnt tell mommy. That the holy ghosts was related to the boogie man and he had hands like tsunamis...Where are the lifeguards when snakes baptised you? He gave me this "t" for my bday and said it was a cross that jesus died on for our sins. So its ok for me to forgive him. Its ok to forgive when holy water tastes like stale regret and stolen mothers.
He slipped the cross between my fingers. God was tge first person to give him unconditional love and I followed. He felt the two should be connected. He said the burning bush could never reach and hung...I heard the heaven was infinite and God has room. I havent seen himhim since. But , my first love was a little different when i was different. ilearned to find the beauty in this difference. So, I'll forgive his. Maybe he'll put in a good word for me; my charmbracelet and this t.
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