aaaaigh school romance.
aaaaI first met him the day after I returned home from summer vacation. He was a friend of a friend. I thought he was fair-looking, though a bit short. I liked that he was a year older than I was. He was funny in an apologetic sort of way.
aaaaThe next time I saw him was in Psych class. He barked at the teacher on the first day of school for calling him by the wrong name. It turns out he went by his middle name, not the first. I thought, How was she to know?
aaaaIt's amazing how that tendency came out more often the longer I knew him. The funny, gentle guy could explode without warning, and did. He was a box of fire crackers, waiting for the slightest bit of fire.
aaaaOur relationship began well and progressed steadily downward from that moment. He was telling me I was beautiful one moment, and then obviously ashamed to be seen with me the next, and telling me about it.
aaaaHindsight says, listen to that first impression.

aaaaFreshman year of college.
aaaaBright red hair, nearly neon. Chiseled features, especially the rugged jaw. Long, lean fingers, rough but gentle, with the odd bit of paint here and there.
aaaaConfident. Oh-so confident.
aaaaBut somehow, not cocky.
aaaa"You've seen the real "Kiss"?"

aaaaWe chatted amicably about art. He was easy-going, but with an underlying force of something that can only be described as passion.
aaaa"Where are you headed now, anyway?" he inquired, as we drifted to a standstill outside one of the less-visited buildings on campus.
aaaa"Nowhere," I said. "My classes are done for the day."
aaaa"Perfect," he said. "Come on up to my studio."
aaaaHe was an artist, and as such had a little cubicle in the portion of the building reserved for senior-level students. It was full of paintings of monsters and mechs, and was untidy in an organized sort of way.
aaaaHe introduced me to his artist friends, each of them wildly different in their subject matter and style, but each of them passionate about what they did.
aaaaOur entire relationship was that way. Full of surprises at every turn, I never got bored being with him. He never did anything half-way. It was all or nothing, and when it was all it was breathtaking to be a part of.
aaaaUnfortunately, eventually we reached the stage where he was ready for it to be nothing.
aaaaI cried for weeks. Months, really. But what can you do when it's not right?
aaaaEventually I learned the answer to that for myself. I moved on. But I'll always have that first impression.

aaaaJunior year. Summertime.
aaaa"I hear you like to write," he said. He was tall, dark and handsome, without the tall. Slender but strong. And the eyes--oh, the eyes. They looked at me, explored my inner workings, and held me as though bound in iron.
aaaa"Yeah, but just for fun. I mean, I've never had anything published."
aaaa"You have to start somewhere," he replied, and flashed me the grin. It conveyed humor, understanding, and a bit of wry sarcasm all at once. I was hooked.
aaaaI tore my eyes away from his, trying to regain control of my heartbeat.
aaaa"How did you hear I like to write?" I asked, eager to keep talking.
aaaa"Oh, your roommate told me. I used to do scenes with her in High School."
aaaa"Scenes?"
aaaa"Drama. We won competitions together."
aaaa"I never knew she did that."
aaaa"Oh yeah, she was great." The way he said it I knew he still thought it. He was in love with her, even though (or perhaps because) they'd never dated.
aaaa"Right," I replied, interest waning.
aaaa"You should be careful, you know," he said confidingly.
aaaa"What do you mean?"
aaaa"Your eyes. Use them wisely. If you look eye-to-eye with any man for more than a few seconds, he's going to drown in those eyes of yours."
aaaaIt was a line, right? I thought so at first. But he seemed genuinely sincere. And he was staring into my eyes, drowning.
aaaaYou can guess the rest. I was drawn in by his body and mind, but not allowed into his heart and soul. He had an undeniable passion about me, but was also still in love with my roommate.
aaaaIt didn't end pretty. Stories like those never do. I should have known. The first day, I should have known.

aaaaSenior year.
aaaaI escaped it all and took a break. I was in a new place, with new people and no ties to the past. Exhilarating.
aaaaHe was attractive, but a bit goofy as well. Dark hair, winning smile, and an understated confidence. The type that knows he will win, and so doesn't make a big deal about it. And doesn't make a big deal about it if he loses, either.
aaaaHe was humorous, too, in a subtle and ironic way. And intelligent. It piqued my curiosity. I wanted to know more.
aaaaThe few minutes conversation we had was playful and refreshing. The physical attraction was growing by the second, and so was the intellectual.
aaaaA few days later, at church. He was well-spoken, and had a spiritual understanding. He loved God. What a rarity, someone who actually follows what they profess to believe. Attraction increased.
aaaa"He's a player," they all told me. "He never has more than two weeks between breaking up and getting a new girlfriend."
aaaaStill, I thought, if I caught him during the right two weeks….
aaaaIt was such a great first impression that I wanted to see more. Unfortunately, someone else got there first.
aaaaI stepped back from the scene, dated around a bit. But always he was there, hovering at the back of my mind. I wanted to be the one caught next.
aaaaIt took awhile, but I was. The next time he was fishing, the line came my way. I bit, and he reeled me in with delight.
aaaaSix months later, wedding bells were ringing.
aaaaWhat else can I say?
aaaaListen to that first impression.