your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, he will have eyes like the dark of the ocean, the trenches, and you will feel like you’ve been thrown out to sea every time he looks at you. your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, he will break your body open like hard candy and gorge himself on the sweet of you. your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, that worst of all, you will like it, you will ask for more, you will beg and whine and tell him that he’s all you’ve ever wanted out of this life, and all of the ones that come after.
your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, his voice will wreck itself into a forest fire trying to cough up how much he really wants you. your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, it will feel like the kind of goddamn romance people write poems about when you can pick up his heartbeat inside of you.
your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, you will say things you don’t mean and you will make a disaster out of him and you will fuck up so badly that you can’t breathe. your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, he will be sitting on the couch complaining about the broken coffee machine and you will want to keep him so badly you swear it’ll kill you. your mother doesn’t tell you that the first time you fall in love with a boy, he will love you back.
