Prologue

It's a bit like dying really, isn't it? Being a teenager, I mean.
Sometimes, it feels like knowing you only have 3 years to live. The love, anger, passion and pain are made so potent by the thought of adulthood, drawing inexorably closer, like rain clouds before a storm. We are faced with the prospect of years of office jobs, mortgages, and rapidly increasing overdrafts. We are frightened, so we do the only thing we know: We fight. We live, love and hate as fiercely as we can, because we know that in the blink of an eye, it will be over.

Well that was how i saw it anyway. But somehow, at the age of 17, I'd had enough of it all – the conflict, the instability and the constant need to feel. To feel the touch of skin on skin, the numbness of my tongue after half a bottle. I'd run out of firsts, and the seconds weren't all that great anymore.

All those firsts...

First kiss
First vodka shot
First cigarette
That first, fateful acid tab
First time

Well. You know what?

I had been there, done that. I'd bought the T-shirt, the mug, the postcard and maybe even the keychain with the photo. I felt empty, and maybe some small part of my mind knew that it was time to grow up. It was only later that i realized I'd forgotten something, and only when that something struck me like an oncoming train. Or a nuclear missile.

Maybe it was first love.