bit-ter-sweet
-adjective
1. both bitter and sweet: bittersweet chocolate.
2. both pleasant and painful or regretful: a bittersweet memory.
-noun
3. also called woody nightshade. a climbing or trailing plant, Solanum dulcamara, of the nightshade family, having small, violet, star-shaped flowers with a protruding yellow center and scarlet berries.
I remember my last summer in Vancouver. It was a summer of clear sunny days and balmy nights. The second to last week, I went camping at a glacial lake with a group of acquaintances, and the boy I had loved when I was sweet 16 (whatever that means... sweeter than 15?) and then lost at a not-so-sweet age. Perhaps I still loved him but everyone tells me first loves are never real. First love is the insubstantial love of youth and inexperience.
The hot afternoons would find me shivering in the glacial lake as I dived into the icy waters, numbing myself since I already regretted coming on the camping trip.
On the last night, a quiet night, I spread my towel on the beach beside the lake and stretched out under the great expanse of the dark sky. Have you ever seen the night sky far far away from the bright city lights? The stars were so numerous that it was almost like looking into infinity. I wanted to count the shooting stars but I lost track. And why are they called stars anyway? They are just meteors passing through the Earth's atmosphere, much less romantic than the idea of stars falling from the sky.
The boy I had loved joined me, stretched out next to me an arm's length away and when I turned my head to look at him, I could see the wispy fog of his warm breath in the cool night air. We were within touching distance and yet, I felt closer to the stars.
We didn't talk. Or if we did, it's forgotten. All that is left is the bittersweet aftertaste of knowing I was leaving soon, away from my childhood home, and away from the boy I had loved with the wild abandonment that comes with the first love.
He left to go back to the heat of the campfire. I stayed on the beach huddled inside my hoodie until I couldn't feel my toes anymore.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
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