By: Gabrielle Hornung
To The First,
To you, who was there when I was first welcomed into this world. Your presence, even before I could talk or take my first steps on this corrupt Earth. My immaturity weighed heavily as I took you at your words of love. You chased me around the house, trapping me in your hugs — hugs that soon became the suffocating hold I know you for. The haunted monsters under my bed, which soon took shape before my eyes — in you. I see pieces of you in me, and it’s horrifyingly comforting. My high school softball days, my codependency — those came from you. To you, the man who broke my heart first. I miss you still, even as I find myself confronted with many versions of you. I was meant to learn love from you — how it looks, how it feels. But what I received was a warped vision of broken promises and of care that came with consequences.
To The Second,
To my first-grade crush, my best friend. You got excited about me, and I let you take over my tiny little heart. Playground dates and pencil trades, as if they were pieces of something bigger than us. To this day, I’m still not sure what happened—one moment we were inseparable, and the next, I had cooties, and you were just annoying. I keep a little place for you in this much older heart of mine, because you might have been the simplest love I’ll ever have. I’ll never have this kind of connection again — so far from complications. But I’ll always cherish the woodchip-filled shoes and the seating charts that placed us together, as if the universe had a plan before we even knew what love was.
To The Third,
To my best friend. The one that never actually happened. Everyone has that middle school crush that lingers into their more formative years, and you were mine. Stolen glances, flirty exchanges — tiny moments that felt bigger than they were. I remember looking into your starry eyes as I slid my homework answers your way, wondering if you saw me the way I saw you. I don’t know if it was the charm, the popularity, or the intoxicating idea of you, but my crush never fully faded. And I like to believe the same was true for you. Then came the day when my fantasies finally became real — at your house, in the bed I had imagined for years. But reality has a cruel way of unraveling illusions. After that night, there were no more shared answers, no more stolen glances. Not even words.
To The Fourth,
To my first “real relationship.” I find comfort in the fact that I don’t remember much about us. At the time, I was consumed, obsessed, convinced I would never recover from the devastation of losing you. Your first teenage heartbreak feels like the end of the world — until it isn’t. It’s strange to think about how much we shared at such a young age, in some of the darkest points of our lives. But I am grateful. Grateful that I got to learn everything about first love with you. It showed me that I was meant for something greater, someone greater. I was afraid — afraid that no one would ever understand what it was like to be loved so deeply by me. But I am proud to say I was wrong.
To The Fifth,
To my rebound. To number four’s best friend. Don’t look at me like that — we’ve all been there, and I’m not proud of myself either. I remember the fleeting moments of pleasure, the way the cracks in my heart were reshaped by finally feeling appreciated. I needed to be needed, and you gave me that. And I never said thank you. Looking back, I wish we had never crossed that line. Maybe then we’d still be friends today, instead of just a memory of something we both needed at the time. I hear stories about you now — the unfaithfulness, the lingering questions about how I am. I hope you heal one day and become the person I once believed you would be.
To My Sixth,
To my love. Our years together have shaped us, growing side by side, intertwined. There isn’t a part of my life where I don’t see traces of you. I never thanked you — for waiting for me to heal, for healing with me, and for healing for me. I’ve had the worst years of my life, and you were there through all of it, even when you weren’t standing right beside me. I can’t imagine anything greater than what we share. You taught me that love is not enough — that it takes effort, work, and the willingness to face problems together. You showed me that it’s us against the problem, not me against you. You taught me that someone can be truthful, genuine. I will never meet anyone as kind as you, and honestly, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You showed me what it’s like to picture a future with someone and pray they want the same. Even if things don’t work out between us, I know you will find someone who deserves you — and I truly want that for you. I know you would want the same for me, because that’s just who you are.
To My Seventh,
To myself. This is the relationship I have been working on for the entirety of my being. It will never be perfect, but I’ve learned that’s okay. It will always be a process of learning, growing, and loving. One day, I will love you the way you deserve to be loved — even if that day isn’t today. I love every past version of you and every future version of you because each one carries the lessons that shape me. You are the only constant in my life, and you deserve that place. I know you deserve the love you don’t always receive, but I am confident that one day, everything you have given to the world will find its way back to you. You are someone full of love, someone who feels deeply enough to write to those who have hurt you and still wish them well. That kind of heart is rare. You are everything I love about the world, and it’s okay if others don’t always see it. We are one. We are the one true, honest love of my life—I just know it.
Gabrielle is a recent graduate of Ohio State University with a degree in English and a minor in World Literature. She has spent her academic career analyzing literature from around the world, refining her writing skills, and exploring the power of narrative. Whether she’s crafting content, researching literary themes, or developing engaging narratives, Gabrielle is always immersed in the written word. When she’s not writing, she’s reading—often juggling multiple books at once—or finding new ways to share her enthusiasm for literature with others.