Descriptive Essay : My Love

Everyone loves to tell the story of their first love, and the beautiful lesson they learned through the adventure. You hear the phrase, “you’ll never forget your first” as you see a small smirk flourish across the faces of people who remember their story. Through all the experiences shared, I never would have believed the result of falling out of love. All of the novels and sweet smiles never hinted about the time I would end up crumbled down on my bedroom's floor, with two years of a person's presence surrounding a broken heart. Nobody will speak of watching your first love leave for college, knowing that they will want to move on. I went through the stages of heartbreak that left me with a cracked and bruised heart. The recovery and journey of finding acceptance and love for myself, created a book of my personal lessons.

People tend to hold onto objects because it reminds them of an important past or significant people whom they received it from. There are countless items people hold onto, one of mine is a picture of me and my siblings. Although the photo is flat and meaningless to some people, in my perspective, there is an immense depth and value to to the actual object. This picture, which illustrates what appears to be me and my siblings having a good time, demonstrates the love I have for them.

She stands at 5'6’’ tall; she has pretty blonde hair, with the most beautiful green eyes you will ever see! Her smile, her smile still gives me butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She walks with such grace, and she is not afraid to show or share her love for Christ! She does so much to make sure that I am more than satisfied. She is an amazing mother to our beautiful 4 year old daughter. As you might have figured out, that woman, she is my wife Amanda! I never thought we would be together; 4.5 years later, we have a beautiful love story.

Music and life are diverse, with soft and soothing lullabies and large and rhapsodic thrillers. But there is no in between. Love, however, is like a symphony. Constantly rising and falling, exquisitely unpredictable, but beautiful and unique nonetheless. Dissonant, and yet still comes together to create something otherworldly. It is rare to witness a kind of love that manages to make one feel infinite. It is even rarer to have this kind of love last. Although, when people are young, they are more likely to have diminutive tastes of this love and are bound to advance the prospect of it in the future. I have been lucky enough to experience this symphony and I hope others are fortunate enough to encounter this illustrious phenomenon we all call love.

It was a warm summer day. I was on my way to visit my best friend in South Florida. I had planned on stopping in my old town of Flowery Branch, Georgia and take my ex-girlfriend Courtney and her family to dinner. I haven’t seen Courtney in almost five years but we have talked everyday. This was a girl whom I had seen myself growing old with and her the same. We dated for 2 years before I moved a couple states away. I had feared one day our love would fade but life made it clear that despite our time apart the love only grew.

Pain has a way of changing people- at least that is true in my case. It has been four months, yet I do not know what happened to my father. My mother is losing it every day- I see her life slipping away from her and I wish there was something I could do, but if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. I was a bubbly girl, who used to talk to everyone I met but now I am a shell of myself. I barely get by at work and I know my boss is almost tired of me. I do not blame him though because he can only do so much with a business to run. My love life is nonexistent because my boyfriend of three years said he could no longer take my mood swings. He hasn’t spoken to me in three weeks.

Not here though. Some time ago, these walls had witnessed love, romance, and passion, they indulged in it, breathing in the essence of love, to expel it upon the next occupants, to inspire them to continue the tradition.

I have dated many people throughout middle school and a few during high school, but Alexander Valle was my first real love. Aside from being my first love he was also my first committed boyfriend in a way. We are not together anymore and I do not know how he feels about me anymore, but I still love him. Maybe not in a romantic way anymore but I know he still has a place in my heart. I watch over him from a distance, I make sure he is not getting into anything bad, and I still protect his name as if we were still dating. Something I learned from this relationship was to love and take care of what you love because they can leave at any given moment. I do not wish we were still together, but I do wish that he finds someone that treats him the way I never could.

The first time we kissed was after we had had sex. I knew we were lying on freshly washed white cotton sheets and that we were in your bedroom, but I couldn’t see anything aside from your hands. My mom always told me that hands always tell you more than eyes or mouths ever can. Your hands were smooth, and besides writing down exams they had never seen the hardship that mine had. There were no callouses, and the skin around your palm was soft and cushiony. Mumbling along to a song playing in the background, I remember tracing words onto your skin, then giggling as you tried to figure out what I had written.

The next three weeks raced by as Caroline floated in a happiness bubble. Every day Nico called or texted and she responded with cute flirty messages. It was stupid to get attached to someone who might walk away but she couldn’t help herself. The morose man who refused to share was replaced by a man who said all the right things to make a girl blush and laugh at the same time. Each day she fell more in love with him.

After coming down from the stage, they hug each other with a big smile. Lastly, Jin-hwan and Haena hug tightly. Sung-min and Ppacko watch them with a satisfying look.

I looked outside, I admired the stars and how carefree they were, just floating in the sky, shining moving along carelessly as if nothing could go wrong. I love how they can be so at peace with each other. I was envious of it. I always come out onto the porch in the night when I have spare time. I like to sit and just admire in awe at how beautiful and peaceful the earth is, and yet it created such reckless bests to accompany it. I took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, taking everything in. Loving every little thing. Every moment. I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined flying, high above the trees, the clouds and out into space, floating without care among the stars. I had only been outside for around ten to fifteen minutes before I jumped startled by the Big Bang that came from the house followed by silence, and then bellowing laughter. I chuckled lowly when I realized it was just my brother tripping over a shoe, as he got up noticeably embarrassed and dusted off his shirt trying to find any dignity that he had left. I watched him as he ran up the stairs face tomato red, as if he was going to cry. I waited a moment before walking up the stairs to find him in the corner of his room. I walked over to him and sat beside him on the floor. Not having said anything, we both sat there.

The birds awoke me again this morning. Scraping and tapping at my window; almost begging me to get out there and play with them. They are the most beautiful creatures in the world, you know? The way they have the ability to soar anywhere they desire. To explore the far edges of the horizon, flying over trees and escaping from the world on the ground.

mystery of love. Myths, poetry and novels have the longest history of recording the idea

Anyone who has been in love, especially if the love object is scornful or infidelitous, has been able to turn to any station and say “every pop song on the radio is suddenly speaking to me,” as Ani DiFranco sings in her song “Superhero”. 1 Petrarchan love sonnets, the antiquated predecessors of the modern “pop love song”, depict love with some sense of perfection, sweetness, and chastity, with the beautiful, infallible blonde as the love object, however both with a sense of unattainability. Shakespeare’s later sonnets, 127-152, dealing with the “dark lady”, the antithesis of the Petrarchan model of love, however, may be a more accurate predecessor, nearly all dealing with the torments and imperfections of love and its source,