By this time i'd kissed an unimportant boy or two, i was 15, he was 16, we were in the same grade, shared a few classes and a group of friends. We were an unlikely pair and for a while, it worked. And we called it love, and, for a while, it was.

We walked our dogs together, ate ice cream, hit the gym, watched too many movies, went on cute double dates and took pictures together. We were happy, despite the rumours, we trusted each other.

Our first kiss was not the height of romantic, but it was still magical. While he was not my first kiss, he made me feel something i'd never felt before. Love.

I felt beautiful, happy, loved. He told me he loved me, he cherished me, showed me off and reminded me of my worth every day. I was in awe. I owe him a lot for what he taught me.

And if you're thinking the end of this article will end up in me saying he used me, that's not the case, at the end of a few good long months, i can't exactly remember how many, we mutually called it quits. The novelty wore off.

We dated for 11 instagrams

-Laura :)