They say that all of us throughout life fall in love with three different types of loves.The first love comes when we are inexperienced and nervous, eager to experience everything that adults say is the best. It is at this stage that we question the whole world around us, including whether the euphoria felt can be similar to any real feeling. The second is usually the worst, painful, it is the one that comes to us with some kind of sentimental lesson; the less we talk about this, the better. The latter most of the time has no intention of arriving, however, it is sudden, honest, and very often, eternal.But in order for me to explain how the three loves of my life could be connected by some kind of deadly coincidence, I need to go back a few years ago, at the time when I was still dreaming of a pink world and a quiet life. Basically, the day I met my first love.The economics teacher finished storing his materials when the signal for the end of classes sounded. Screams of ecstasy eme

My door opened the moment I finished fastening my hair with a black clip. "Where do you think you're dressed like that? "Questioned my mother, blocking the hallway of the house with her small body.I took a look at my short and loose black dress, and the high boots that wrapped around my knees. I wasn't as vulgar as the shock on his face showed, and I really didn't want to argue about my new way of dressing, so I took some jacket and hid the neckline between my no big breasts. My mother kept looking at me with an ugly face.At that time, I used to believe that any type of clothing would look perfect on my skeletal teenage body. My family used to fool me with certain comments about how thin being was ideal to fit in elegant clothes, and I rarely doubted it.In this way, even with too thin legs, long arms and visible bones, I felt like a Marilyn Monroe inside loose and fluttering clothes, but no one ever told me that my appearance came closer to an ironing board with ruffles thrown over

But I didn't know that not always what we want, or what destiny puts in our paths, is the right thing to keep in our lives. Sometimes you can say no to someone who comes up suddenly, because he's only there to be the stone you're going to stumble upon. If you choose to reject it, you can stumble and move on, but if you decide to keep it in your pocket, the weight will always make you choose the wrong way.I got in the car and stretched out to kiss Jonathan while he started. He was talking on his cell phone, and the radio was turning on, so none of us could hear my mother cursing in the middle of the sidewalk, although his skinny image was being reflected by the rearview mirrors of the car.I tried not to feel guilty as her image became distant, and the wind coming from everywhere through the lowered windows hit my face hard, but I failed when I felt a knot forming in my throat.If I was lucky not to get beaten up when I came home, I would have to listen to a sermon of those given by B

Jonathan appeared at the door with a desolate and more serene face than I saw in all the almost two years we knew each other. He asked me to come in, and even if I didn't want to, Gabby left. I couldn't blame her, if I had answered her questions about boyfriends I could have warned her about Jonathan and his enviable art of taking anyone into her conversation. Once again he succeeded in deceiving and disguising his intentions.My father's always so shrewd and cool girlfriend made a point of reminding Jonathan that the difference in our ages was one of the reasons why my mother was in favor of distance. Jonathan, in turn, was complacent and empathetic, saying that he would not have gone to Washington without first having had a conversation that "according to his words, and not mine" clarified all his agreement with my family. While listening, Gabby limited herself to moving her eyebrow and nibbling her lip, inexpressive.Jonathan bothered to make a self-depreciating speech to convince

"What sound is that? "I asked hoarsely for the excessive use of the voice."There is a gallon of water loose in the trunk," Jonathan replied, increasing the volume again. He looked through the rearview mirror, momentarily fixing his brown eyes on the rear seats. "I need to stop at a station to solve this problem.”We went down the interstate with the voice of an opera singer screaming in our ears. The traffic was a mess, which contributed even more to our delay and the pain in my head. Going through the expressway at a pace similar to that of a slug, when we arrived at the nearest gas station it was already early in the morning. There was no gas station attendant, so Jonathan fueled the car alone and entered the small convenience store.Taking advantage of the minutes of peace, I lowered the volume again, and leaned back, closing my eyes. I didn't have time to reflect on the relief I felt inside me seeing that Jonathan had not prevented me from ending what we had, because the blow was