The end.

You always told me that story of the first time your brown eyes saw me. You recalled this meeting to every last detail in the most vivid manor; You knew what I was wearing, who I was with, and what I ordered at that empty sandwich shoppe. To me, it always sounded so unreal, because I couldn't begin to imagine that it was possible to take such flawless mental notes, and remember them, especially for a complete stranger.

You told this story so often, I could just about steal each word before your lips and tongue had time enough to form each word. But I guess I'm also partly to blame for how frequent these words were recited from your memory, because I would ask to hear this story. And during this story, my eyes would widen from amazement, my longing hands would weasel their way over to yours to interlock, and I would strategically kiss your neck, just below your jaw line, so you could tell the story without interruption.

The story always started with the sandwich shop scene. I walked in, as you recall, with a friend; I was wearing a purple shirt, my hair long, and all I ordered was a smoothie. You would tell me what you though, like how you said to yourself "I have to meet her" and "that girl is perfect", and "she's so beautiful." Then you'd go into the events that followed such as coming to my house, our brief "dating," and everything that brought us to each other. I'm convinced to anyone else, this story would fall short of all their expectations, but it filled my every last one.

That is until the day our story took a tragic turn, crash, and burn. I will always speak the story of my first love, Marcus Gonzales. It starts with your story, when you first saw me, and you telling me my fairytale, but never ending the way it could have, probably should have, something I had definite faith in. At the end of the story, my heart broke. You had given something only we were to share to three other girls. As anyone could imagine, my tears were a heavy down pour, and I wished for my eyes to experience a drought. My self worth was demolished beyond recognition, paralleling my pride. I could no longer figure out who I was, what I stood for, and where I was going. Everything lead me to no clue of what to do next, which path to choose, and even which paths were there, and how to find them.

My dearest Marcus cheated on me, Anna Preston, and it was never understood why. My love was so abundant, enough to last us both until neither of our hearts were beating, and where was it to go? He was the only one this love was intended for, the sole motivation for the creation of this feeling. So this is now my struggle, my night terror. Where will this love go if my pride, my value, my fears don't allow me to deliver this love anymore? What will I do? What will become of me? How will I live? Well, I guess that's where the next story begins.