Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.
I met you by chance, a chance I would only get twice in a lifetime. Worlds collided and stars aligned for us to meet. I had firmly believed I didn't deserve you, and your conscious agreed with those thoughts, leaving me with no way of reaching you. It was fated to be this way. I understand, I don't fault you.
At our first meeting you beamed at me with deep, captivating fern eyes, one of which was hidden under a wave of fiery hair, freckles dancing across your face.
I called you forest fire.
You called me silly.
I loved you.
We laughed together, held hands and skipped through the wood's trails. You sang and I admired your voice, which was reminiscent of tea on a rainy afternoon. I loved everything about you, from your laugh to the way you stared longingly at the stars. I wanted to share every moment with you, my first love.
But as we often hear, our first love rarely works in our favor, and I should have heeded those words; though now as I write this and then long ago I did not hold any malice or bitter feelings towards you. The universe had decided it wasn't right.
Wherever you are now, I hope you are the happiest you've ever been. I hope you're surrounded by friends and family who cared for you as much as I did. I hope you're at peace with yourself, the way I am now.
I love you, Anna Spivey.
- 7/7/17
