I often wonder at the definition of first love. Many acquaint it to different people, for different reasons. Could I acquaint it to the first crush I ever had? Well then that would have to go to Orlando Bloom as Legolas in The Lord of the Rings. Do I count it as the first heart pounding, late night longing, tear-jerking crush I ever had? Well, that would have to go to a boy named Chase at the tender age of twelve, whom I was infatuated with for quite some time. Though he never liked me back, and while it was fun to crush on and spend nights talking about him with my girlfriends, I don’t think I could call it love. No. My first love belongs to my first boyfriend.

We met on the first day of high school, as cliché as that sounds. Dressed in black dress pants and unflattering navy blue golf shirts that passed for acceptable uniforms, we caught our first glimpse of each other in first period drama class. I didn’t believe in love at first sight then. I don’t really think I do now. But I remember noticing him. We had formed a small circle to introduce ourselves, and I liked the fact that he had black hair. It is still one of my favorite features of his.

He was my first love, although it took some time for that to form.

We were friends first. It started with an innocent compliment from his end after a performance in drama class where I hid my nerves behind improvised sarcasm that seemed to convince the audience I knew what I was doing. Some simple and kind words and I thought, “This is someone I would like to get to know.” Soon enough we started spending more time together, and quickly found out that we liked a lot of the same things, connecting through a love of music, manga, comics, and certain movies (particularly Star Wars).

This was a time in which I wasn’t particularly comfortable with myself. I was the so-called emo kid at my high school, and to be fair, I certainly dressed the part and liked the music, so the shoe fit. Still, I was often bullied for my style, and at age fourteen with braces I had acquired over the summer, I did not feel particularly desirable. And in turn, I was still crushing on Chase, who paid little to no attention to me, and was one of the people who had enjoyed causing me torment over the “emo” thing. When I made friends with my first love, I never set out to like him, and I never set out for him to like me back. It was just nice to meet someone who wasn’t judging me immediately. In truth, even when the feelings began to grow, I didn’t want to like him. I pushed it back and back because I didn’t want to be disappointed. I lived in denial, that is until my friends Rebecca and Jess, and my mother, all made it abundantly clear that they were not feelings I could avoid.

The funny thing about first love though, is sometimes you can tell it is coming. That it is the right and best thing for you. And sometimes, if you are lucky, you get to choose it. Because at the time that I was starting to like him, I still had a crush on Chase, whom I had significantly less to do with now that our paths had diverged a bit in high school, different classes, social circles and the like. And I remember talking to my aunt about both of them. She had known about Chase for some time, and I was just beginning to tell her about my first love, when she asked me the question, “Well, who do you like more?”

It seems like a simple question, but I didn’t have a simple answer. Because despite the fact that I had been crushing on Chase for about two years then, there were many things I knew about the situation.

1. He was a bully, at least to me. He was a fourteen-year-old boy and I was a fourteen-year-old girl and I was “different” and “weird.” It wasn’t right, and it was cruel, but it was also expected.

2. He didn’t like me back, which was fair, he didn’t owe me his feelings. As well, it was clear that if he ever did like me back, that he would consider dating me as social suicide.

3. I deserved kindness and love. Even if it wasn’t the type of love I wanted or needed.

And so, in knowing these things, I told my aunt that even though I liked them both, I was choosing to put all my attention into the boy who would become my first love. Because even though in a million years I never imagined he would like me back, he was kind, and he was my friend, and he seemed to like me for who I was. Even if he didn’t look at me romantically, just liking him gave me so much more than I could have ever hoped to receive from Chase. So, I chose him. Even when I thought he wouldn’t choose me back. And it took me a long time to realize that in choosing him, I was also choosing myself. I was choosing my happiness, my right to respect, kindness, and acceptance. I was setting up expectations for my first love without even realizing it. Without thinking about what a mature decision that was, how logical my thought process was when I was usually one to just follow my heart. So many people asked me if I somehow knew it would work out, but I really didn’t. I just knew I deserved better than I had been getting. Better than I had ever expected. And that came from being friends with him. From seeing someone treat me with kindness without expecting anything back. Because, as I am sure you are aware by now, he did like me back, and we did get together.

It happened the end of our first semester exams. January 28, 2011. We were at a friend’s house celebrating being done. He had told my twin sister a few days before that he liked me, and that he was going to ask me out at the My Chemical Romance concert we were going to in April. Me, being my impatient self, and ever the cliché, trapped him into a game of truth or dare at the party where the first question out of my mouth was “Who do you like?” and his response was “I know you know.” The rest became history.

We never did the dating phase. We went straight into being boyfriend and girlfriend. We had our first kiss on February 13, and he got me a necklace for Valentine’s with a sparkly “N” on it, with a matching set of earrings that my brother knocked down the bathroom sink one day. My parents wouldn’t let us go out on dates alone until I was fifteen, so we either had to hang out at my house or meet up with other friends. Things progressed slowly, cautiously, neither of us really sure what to do or how it would go. We always thought, “This is high school, relationships don’t last long,” and while neither of us wanted to break up anytime soon, we always high fived ourselves when we made it another month. I realized I loved him in August of 2011 when he went away for a couple weeks, and I knew we wouldn’t have communication. I was the first to say it. He said it back a little while later because he was honest enough to admit that he wasn’t fully sure what love was yet. Our friends loved us, thought we were adorable, and I always got complimented on “catching the only decent guy at our school,” as some of our friends may say. And it was true. I always remembered that I chose him, and that, despite not ever thinking it would happen, he chose me too.

And while I have been calling him my first love in this paper (as he did ask me not to name him), I hope someday, and I guess maybe in my last breath, I get to call him my only love. Because my first love is, as of this moment, the only love I have ever had, romantically speaking. As I write this, we have been together for nearly twelve years. He proposed to me during this hellscape we call a pandemic. We are getting married on our twelve-year anniversary, which will have passed by the time this sees publication. He is the only person I have ever loved. It is a cliché to be sure, the high school sweethearts, the young love, marrying whom you dated in high school. I have had many people say they couldn’t even imagine it. How there are so many other people out there. We have been asked the age-old question: “But aren’t you worried you are missing out on something?”

And the truth is no. I don’t. Because at the end of the day I always remember that I chose him for myself. To be someone I deserved. And don’t get me wrong, we have certainly had our ups and downs. Nothing ever unfaithful, just hardships. Anyone who knows us who reads this will know what they are. There have certainly been times I thought it would end, where if things hadn’t changed, they certainly would have.

But the beauty of a relationship, or any relationship, is that you have the opportunity to grow together. You just have to take it. Twelve years is a long time. And I have gotten to know just as many versions of him as he has me. And the love I hold for him now is so different than it was in August of 2011. What was new, scary, hopeful, uncertain, and exciting, is now a little like rereading your favorite book: familiar, comforting, still a little scary, but it reminds you of why you fell in love, and lets you do it all over again.

Not many people get to say that their first love is their only love. I am lucky enough to say it now. I hope I will be able to say it for the rest of my life. Not to live a fairy tale, and not to be a cliché. Just because, in this moment, I love him so fiercely, I never want it to end.

Because even after all these years, I still choose him, for the same reasons I did all those years ago. Because in choosing him, I know that I am choosing myself too. I am choosing the love that I deserve. The love that brings out the best version of myself.

And whether it be your first love, or your last, I hope you find the love that you deserve, too.

-N.A. Kimber

N.A. Kimber (she/her) is a writer from Caledon, Ontario. She has been writing since she was twelve years old and has always been moved by the power of storytelling across all mediums. She is the cofounder of the online publication Forget-Me-Not Press which she runs with her twin sister and artist, Kristen Donoghue-Stanford. She has been published online with Heroica.co, Cordelia Magazine, LadyStudios, Cauldron Anthology, Undressed Society, and in print in Pink Umbrella Books anthology All is Bright. Most recently she has published a children's book, The Trick or Treaters Club, in collaboration with illustrator, Michaela Bedard. She can usually be found with a cup of tea in hand and either knitting, reading, or (obviously) writing. Find her on Instagram @nahydekimber