First Loves

The new year has come, a time of change and new happiness. But can the new exist without the old, without the memory of the old days? I don't think so. So, while reflecting on this bright holiday, let's remember those who we once loved, and still do love. Let's talk about someone special. About our first love. Do you remember them? Who were they? Human or non-human? Were they real? Was the love itself mutual?

I was born and still live in one of those millions of small, even tiny towns, that put food on their tables only by the presence of a huge factory that also happens to dwell  there. A factory with which every resident of the city unwittingly enters into some strange, perverted symbiosis, in which the resident himself suffers much more than the factory, and in return receives only pennies of well-being out of the factory's earnings. Both of my parents worked late at my town's factory. They were almost never at home and I spent most of my childhood on the streets. But I was unsociable and I wasn't too interested in my peers playing Pokémon or whatever else they were doing, I rarely spent time with them. I preferred to sit alone in a remote wasteland and spend long hours thinking about life or making up stupid stories about the people I could have been born as. My only companions in this pastime were pigeons, who spent their days at the other end of the wasteland, near which hot pipes flowed. At first, the birds were afraid of me, but over time they got used to me, began to approach me, they allowed me to cross the threshold of their house. And my parents taught me that coming to someone's house without gifts is bad form.

And I began to bring millet to the birds. After a while, I could already distinguish some birds from all the others, for example, there lived a large, daring blue pigeon missing a finger, a buffoonish brown pigeon, and a beautiful blue-white dove. This dove, perhaps, treated me better than all the others. Analyzing what was happening then, I can even say that she was not afraid of me from the very beginning, I just somehow did not notice it then (probably I was too busy fantasizing). She sat on my right hand while with my left I drew some incomprehensible patterns in the sand, and watched with interest what I was doing, followed my every move. I became attached to her, and one day I experienced a feeling that, I lacked the skills to describe back then, but you all call this the feeling of falling in love.

I began to carry special gifts to my love, like barley seeds, which she loved. I began to sit with her even some nights. I began to pet her a lot (you will be surprised, but I have never had salmonellosis) and tell her tender words about how beautiful she is. And she answered me with cooing, she touched my hair, sat on my lap and absolutely also loved me with the most sincere love. We spent many hours together with just me and her, only occasionally distracted by other members of her pack. It was a wonderful time. I spent two and a half years with her. But one cold winter day she just didn't come to me, I didn't find her among her pack either. She was nowhere to be found. I searched for her everywhere until the summer. But she never showed up.

I still don't know what happened to her, but I hope she's okay and one day she just decided to say goodbye to her old life, burn all the bridges and fly somewhere else to another city. I hope she lived a happy pigeon life for many more years.

What is the moral of this story? Love and appreciate those who you have and remember those who you had. A loss can be completely unexpected, so give all your love while those you love are still around. And losing is always difficult, every death or departure hits the living hard, but know that you will cope, you will survive it, because you are strong and you are loved.

Article written by Zernícaly (January 2025)

Find Zernícaly at https://twitter.com/zernicaly

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