I was six years old when I had my first kiss.

It was with my best friend under an apple tree where we carved our own little message. We carved in our names and best friends forever. She likely doesn’t remember that kiss, probably because it seemed nothing more then a casual sentiment. We were so happy after we finally finished that we were jumping up and down, and then she pecked my lips.

She probably doesn’t remember it, but that’s cause it didn’t mean much to her, not like it meant to me. But to me, it felt like it was the start of the rest of my life.

I was eight when I realized I didn’t like boys, then or ever.

Of course, at the time, no girl liked boys, but I guess I kinda realized that I detested them in a different way then the others did. But, I was just happy that there were others who supported my theory of boys being someone that girls should stay away from. My best friend, the same one that carved that message on the tree with me, and kissed me on that day, was right by my side.

The funny thing is, you don’t think that you remember things from when you were younger, but I remembered that kiss. I didn’t know why I remembered the kiss at the time, especially when she probably didn’t. But then, at the time, it was my first and only.

I was nine when I first realized I loved her.

I always thought it was weird that I used to dream about her. I found out why when I was nine. I guess it’s a pretty young age to discover the love of your life, but I was just freaking out too much to even care. I couldn’t love her, she was my best friend, and you’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend.

I told myself that for the longest time, until I finally woke up one morning, and I saw her beside my bed, grinning like an idiot. It was my birthday and she said that she wanted to be the first one to greet me. She doesn’t know what that moment meant to me. Because at that second, when I saw her face, I realized that I never wanted to wake up seeing another persons face except hers.