It's said that the first love is never forgotten, and I never forgot Marilin. We were just kids talking online, back in 2003 when dial-up internet was a thing. We lived on opposite sides of the country, but we were there for each other despite the distance. We shared fantasies and ideas, called each other sweet nicknames, and looking back, it was such an innocent love, one that still lingers in my heart today.
We talked about the hardships we were facing and how our lives had turned out, always wishing we could have been closer… Maybe things would have been better for both of us. Even though that never happened, our bond remained strong.
We always talked about meeting somewhere in the middle, but when the day came, she didn’t show up. I didn’t hear from her for an entire year. That was 2007.
A year later, she reappeared with a tragic story. She had a serious disease, complicated and frightening, and her family situation offered her little support. I was mortified by what I heard; her story broke my heart, and it felt surreal.
Two years after that, in 2009, we finally met. She waited for me at the train station and welcomed me into her home, giving me dry clothes when mine were soaked from the snow. It was a freezing winter, but none of that mattered.
She had one of the sweetest smiles, pale skin, dark curly hair, and the bluest eyes I could lose myself in. She was the reincarnation of Aphrodite with a heart of gold… or at least I had the honor of seeing that side of her. She was my first love.
That evening, we attended a house party. I remember at least 40 pairs of shoes at the door, a chaotic scene for anyone trying to find theirs. I looked around and saw her talking to another girl. I stood there, admiring her beauty. Then she turned and lifted her hair, and I saw the scar, the biggest I had ever seen. It ran about 50 centimeters, from the middle of her head down her spine. That image tattooed itself into my memory forever. My heart shattered into a million pieces, because it was real, a truth I had denied because it was unbearable.
Fifteen years have passed since I first saw her, yet the love I have for her remains. Our paths crossed now and then, but life had other plans. In my heart, she still has a place, and I still carry her photo in my wallet. I often think about her and wonder how she’s doing. The last time we tried to catch up, she couldn’t find the time. She sent me voice recordings, her voice trembling, then… silence.
My attempts to reach her went unanswered until today, when I finally found her mother.
My beloved Marilin has passed. No post, no condolences, no “You will be missed”.... nothing. It saddens me and angers me at the same time.
I looked for her old photos, the ones I had kept in a book all these years. I cried, but I also felt a strange relief. I moved her photos into another book, one whose title reminds me of her: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. Knowing her long suffering has ended gives me a strange comfort, an unbearable lightness. I hope the next life grants her the peace and joy she deserves.
More than half of this post was a dusty draft, and I figured it was about time to finish it. It’s hard to vent to friends and family about someone who has been present in my life for so many lifetimes ago. I don’t even know how to grieve. Life is strange. We think we have time, but we never do.
Love never truly dies; it just changes form. And though she’s gone, my love for her remains. I have carried her in my heart for 23 years.
So, here’s to Marilin! My first love, my lasting memory, and my gentle reminder that love, even when it hurts, is the most beautiful thing we can ever give.