You’re it. I know it with every fiber of my being. Suddenly, when I look at you, I realize that I can thank that long list of names. Ryan, Jake, Adam, Dylan, Tyler, Nick. They all finally mean something. Adam was the first boy I ever thought I loved. Dylan introduced me to butterflies and taught me that sometimes the littlest things mean the most. Tyler showed me that trust is the foundation of any type of relationship. He taught me that if trust is strong enough, and a romantic relationship fails, that a friendship can still be saved. And he showed me that if the person means enough, selfishness steps aside and friendship is preferable to being nothing at all. Nick taught me how to think higher of myself. He showed me exactly what I would get if I just kept settling for what was there. He showed me that you can’t truly love someone unless you accept yourself first. And then I met you and everything I’ve learned from the past fell into place. I was able to let myself go with you. I know that years from now, I won’t laugh at what I thought was love. You’re that guy. My first love. And I can tell now that everything about first love is true. The first heartbreak is the worst. The first cut is the deepest. That first love is never really over. But if that’s true, then that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. More depressing than the Holocaust and dying puppies. I’ve heard stories of women in their 30’s getting their 6 year old off the bus, with the 2 year old in the car seat sleeping and the husband off to work. And they’re still thinking about that first guy. And it scares me to death to wonder if that’s how it will be. If when I see a 3 and a half foot tall little boy running towards me with a huge smile on his face and finger paints all over his hands, I’ll wonder what if he had green eyes and sandy brown hair? What if he tanned perfectly in the summer? What if he had a cute little curve to his nose? And then I’ll wonder what you’re doing, if you’re happy. I’ll wonder if you ever think about me. I’ll wonder if when you’re in your late 40’s and you’re watching your little girl walk across that big stage to get her diploma, if you’re wondering what if she had the most complicated colored eyes and freckles? What if she couldn’t tan to save her life? What if she had huge boobs and never reached 5’2”? It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. I’m not promising you forever. I’m just offering you a room with a thousand open doors.