It was a simple red ribbon.
I remember how it looked in her hair. Like her beauty, it was understated and, as such, made for a complementary adornment.
I suppose she had dozens of them. Some ribbons, some more like bows, but each one red, the color of love.
She was my first lover. We pushed the boundaries of our budding sexual selves together, our trepidation veiled by our nervous laughter. We trusted one another --- maybe even more than we loved --- and we walked carefully through the wonderful unknown of our young adulthood arm in arm, heart to heart. We listened to each other’s doubts and fears, enjoyed one another’s laughs and tears and spent hours wrapped in each other’s arms, bathing in the warmth of our delightful discovery.
We didn’t share with others the things we did together. We didn’t flaunt our relationship. But she could melt me with one look at one hundred paces, her brown eyes seeing --- knowing --- my heart like none before.
And few since.
Yes, eventually we went our separate ways. It was a gradual separation. We grew apart just as we’d grown together --- slowly and with much care for the other’s feelings. Finally, we were simply close friends that had shared a very special and beautiful time in their lives together. Still, each time I see her, there are familiar stirrings inside.
I think those feelings will always be.
***
This morning, I saw a young boy and girl walking together, smiling, both looking happily nervous. Almost giddy.
The girl looked a lot like she did 25 years ago --- brown hair, brown eyes and a complexion kissed bronze by the summer sun.
I watched them for a minute. She looked at me.
There was a red ribbon in her hair.
I was 15 again.



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