57. New

I miss experiencing things for the very first time.

Adulthood is so bleak and disappointing.

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I remember my first kiss, with the baseball player I pined over for months.

I was in the ninth grade. He asked me out in French, and I felt like the most special girl alive.

Or at least in that little school hallway.

It felt like the start of the rest of my life.

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The first time I ever danced was when I was nineteen years old.

Two years after my wedding.

Maybe that was a sign it wasn’t going to work out.

But I felt so free, lost in a crowd of strangers.

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I remember the first time I fell in love.

I never got the beautiful moments I dreamt about.

I still haven’t gotten it.

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I miss when everything was a question.

The rest of my life was a collection of blank pages I stared at in wonder.

Ready to recount the adventures I so desperately craved.

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But that moment passes in what seems like less than an instant.

You’re left only with the memories of what you’d wished for before.

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That first is always better before it happens.