We finally met in person for the first time at my junior semi-formal and I still remember every waking moment - it had been the greatest night of my life.Īs a first time relationship often does, it made the world a blur of rose-coloured bliss in my eyes. The chubby, short, teenage version of myself whose hair was an awkward length and whose boobs were the size of overgrown cantaloupes finally felt a sense of belonging with a guy who lived 30 minutes away by car and had the anatomical build of a sexy green bean. Life seemed perfect.īut after a couple of months, things got worse. Our friends got sick of the lovebird mania. Slowly but surely, my little slice of heaven was being reduced to a few crumbs of adolescent mediocrity. But even all that paled in comparison to the tsunami of shock that was about to drown my crappy, little island of self-pity.Ī few months and another break up later, a sporadic, yet fairly normal, text messaging conversation turned into one of the strangest phone calls I have ever had. My tall, sexy, master of many accents green bean boyfriend told me that he was gay. My first thought was, “Gay? Like happy?” God, did I pray he meant happy. But deep down I knew he was trying to tell me he didn’t really love me anymore. In my mind, all I really heard was, “forever alone”.