First Love

I've scoured the internet for quotes about platonic love but nothing I encountered properly encapsulated the emotions connected to my relationship with Her. My first love was a girl and I'm not gay. Let me tell you how that can possibly be.

I fell in love with Her at first sight. Love at first sight tends to be superficial, and that's what this was. It was the first day of 9th grade, Picture Day, she stood out as the most beautiful girl in the gymnasium. She was tall and slightly awkward in her lankiness. She had flawless skin and full lips and defined cheekbones. All things I wished for in my short, pockmarked, thin lipped insecurity. I tried not to stare too long, but probably did. I had never encountered a person so stunning; not up-close. And mind you, we went to school with a literal supermodel. Like opened for Fendi as her first runway supermodel. That girl didn't hold a candle to Her.

I smiled at Her.

I smiled at everyone that first week. I remember practicing body language with my mom at the end of summer 2016. She taught me: stand up straight, don't cross your arms, eye contact, and smiiiiile.

I stood at about 5 feet and my maroon socks travelled from my penny loafers to mid-calf height; tragic proportions. Having never worn a school uniform before, I didn't realize how uncool it was to pull your socks all the way up. Desperate for friends, I scrunched them down into a burgundy bunch at my ankles.

I had transferred from a top-rated public school district to a girls' school in attempt to start anew. Disgusting harassment by middle school boys had broken my spirit, and I could only imagine with fear the heightened perversions of a high school boy.

She was in my English class, which meant she was smart. The paradox of beauty and brains has long been a mysterious phenomenon to me. Can they coexist? She proved it's possible. Her poignant contributions to the discussion-based class drifted from her lips in soft, angelic wavelengths.

I thought to myself: I want to be Her friend.

Truthfully, I don't remember how we became friends, but we did; and not long after, we were Best Friends.

What a blur high school was for me! I spent my weekdays depressed, my weekends drunk, and any time in between, I was asleep. But everything seemed a little lighter with Her, as everything is wont to do when you're in love.

She was beautiful, yes. But as I got to know Her, I learned she had a boundless imagination. We bounced ideas off each other excitedly and engaged in creative projects together and we both saw the world a little differently than our peers. She made me laugh and best of all, feel special.

It meant a lot to be loved by Her. Like me, she was kind of a misanthrope. She didn't like many people and was pretty shy. It was an honor to be Her friend. She loved with the fervor of a Regency-era suitor. I loved her right back with the same intensity.

The best part about platonic love is there's no questioning. Romantic love gets muddled in the possibility of blinding lust distorting the emotions. There's no lust between friends, just unadulterated appreciation for each other.

We spent a lot of time together. When we were apart, our phones kept us in touch. Austenian lovers had handwritten letters and postage stamps, we had Snapchat and iMessage.

She found her niche in photography & film and I found mine in fashion; together, we were a dream team. I starred in Her photoshoots wearing my wacky outfits while she hid Her beauty behind the camera. I never considered myself to be photogenic, but she did. The pictures came out great! She helped me turn my protective armor of feigned confidence into a genuine love for myself.

The best part about this time was that everything we were doing was out of pure love for the craft. Nothing was monetized, nothing was assigned, we were just two teenagers having fun. We'd post our projects to Instagram not for likes, but as a platform to share things we were proud of. Oh, how I miss that era of Instagram.

She and I grew up in Pennsylvania within a county that straddled the white picket fence between suburbia and rural America. It made for a beautiful backdrop to our photoshoots. We travelled in our Hondas to parks, open spaces, and our backyards to get the perfect shot.

Around this time, I purchased a used Minolta point-and-shoot film camera that I brought with me everywhere. I took photos of my friends at parties in basements with the bright ass flash that people grew to expect. I have so many pics of Her in the vault. Her gorgeousness never stopped mesmerizing me. I thought it to be such a waste that she kept herself away from the camera lens.

When COVID hit, we stayed in our respective homes and FaceTimed incessantly. We simultaneously streamed TV shows on Netflix Party and shared some of the most profound thoughts in the sidebar chat. Her screen name was Stockbroker, mine Sriracha.

I spend a lot of my time yearning. Nostalgia overcomes me daily in the form of revisiting old photos from past phases of my life. I stare wistfully at pictures of us and forget how freaking emo I was in those years. Someone famous said Nostalgia is a Liar but I prefer to call it an optimist. Liar is kinda harsh if you ask me. Optimism uses a half-full glass to wash down a hard-to-swallow pill. Nostalgia is an Optimist.

I have never felt so beautiful as when I was photographed by Her. Nowadays, I dread being in front of a camera. My photo album is an endless sea of selfies that mirror my asymmetrical face and distort my self-esteem. But she captured me in comfort. It's so easy to pose for someone who knows your soul.

ANYWAYS...

Over the summer, she reached out that she'd be coming home briefly from New York. She had found an underwater film camera she wanted to test out. She suggested the body of water be my pool and the subject to be little old me!

Imagine the wave of optimistic nostalgia that washed over me when I saw Her old MeMoji, still saved as the contact photo in my phone, appear on my screen. There she was in Her cartoonified glory, frozen in time as the girl I loved so dearly: Her old hair, her silly expression, and the reminder that she used to love MeMojis. I literally have never met another person who uses MeMoji. LOL

They came out alright, but we're going to try again this summer now that she knows the camera a bit better. It was great to catch up with eachother. It felt just like old times to play around in front of a camera with the person whom I credit for my confidence.

There's a million more things I could say about Her. I could talk for hours about our jokes, plans to decorate our shared palace, crazy times, arguments, and everything else that comes with love and friendship. We don't talk much any more, but I silently cheer Her on as she makes Her way in NYC.

I remember Her through camera roll scrolls and shared notes app leftovers. No one else quite like Her has come through my life and I'm grateful for that. Her inability to be replicated confirms the uniqueness of our friendship. I spent a while searching for someone like Her, but there's no use. Ask anyone, there's nothing like your first.

We may have gone our separate ways, but first loves are cosmically doomed which is what makes them so special. You're forever in my heart, Nadia.

Xx,

Sara