He.

He was the one I saw across the bar with a smile and laugh that penetrated the seedy, smoky, vomit scented air. He was the one I was too scared to approach. He was the one I made my sister strike up a conversation with just so I could have an excuse to talk to him. He was the one I went home with that night. He was the one who told me it was my smile that could light the entire world. He was the first one I dated who lived in his own apartment. He was the one who encouraged me to stop fucking around in dives and with drugs and to get my shit together. He was the one who gave me the ultimatum: cocaine or him. He was the one who took me by the hand to fill out my college applications. He was the one who read my poetry and told me I should be a writer. He was the one who told me I was smart. He was the one who gave me my first orgasm.  He was the one who I could depend on, no matter how much time had passed, to give me his strong shoulder to cry on. He is the one I still call whenever I need a shoulder to cry on. He was the one who made me feel as strong as I know I am now.  He was the one who saved all of my love letters.

He was the one.

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