His name was Teo. No h in between the t and the e. His name was just Teo
We met at the tennis court. The fake green grass looked dull, the sun was beginning to lose its heat and autumn was taking over the summer warmth.

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I started playing tennis because I wanted something to change. I've always been looking for ways to make things different. Or maybe I wanted to run away from my problems. I've also been doing that for a while.
Before taking tennis lessons, I used to be a swimmer but, even though I was young and I was supposed to be careless, I was extremely self-conscious about my body. I've never been skinny, I've always wanted to, and I've always always always felt too fat.

So I ran away. If I didn't have to confront my fear of being judged because of my body, it would go away. At least that's what I thought.

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His name was Teo. The Italian equivalent to Matthew is Matteo. But his name was just Teo.
At a first glance, he looked like one of those boys who would have bullied me. His hair was always kept short, he wore clothes that did not fit — he either had sweatshirts that were too big or t-shirts that were too short and too tight on his chest, but mind you that he was in no way bulky. He actually was quite skinny, yet not scrawny.

Now that I think back about him, as he sometimes crosses my mind, I realise that he probably was a loser. There's no malice in my words, I was a huge loser myself and some would argue that I still am.

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His name was Teo. His name was just Teo.
And he was not like other boys.

It's a cliché, it's an overused way to describe love interests in books. But it is accurate. He had that smile, that smirk, the one that always annoys the protagonist in stories, the one that only people who think they are better than you can do. And I loved it. In books,it would be called that damned smile, the main character would say that that damned smile made them fall in love.

Maybe it was that damned smile, but I refuse to think I was so frivolous that I only thought about his looks. He was nice, actually.
He looked like a bully, yet he was nice to me. He helped me. As I said before, I was a loser. I was not good with the tennis racket, I could not catch those bright yellow balls. But he helped me anyways.

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His name was Teo. The tis pronounced like the one in tea, the e like the one in left and the o like the one in shot. Teo. His name was just Teo.

I guess I could describe him as a wannabe bad boy. He listened to rap. Italian rap only. He was the one who introduced me to Mostro and Lowlow while we were exercising. Back then, it was when I had just started listening to 5SOS.

He was nice, yet he was mean, yet he was extremely kind, yet he always looked like he did not care.

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His name was Teo. Just Teo.
He smoked, sometimes. Even though he was too young to even buy a packet of cigarettes, he still smoked. Here you have to be at least sixteen.

His lips were not big, they were pale and looked amazing with the cigarette between them. I guess I have a thing for smokers. I do not like smoke, I always tell everyone who smokes to stop, yet there is something about a boy who smokes that excites me.
Maybe I just want to feel like I helped someone. Maybe I just like how smoke looks when it curls out of a boy's lips.

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His name was Teo. Just Teo. And he made my heart race every time we talked. And he made butterflies emerge from the shiny chrysalis in my stomach. And he made me have goose bumps when he toughed me.
His hands were pretty. When they touched mine, the skin of my face blushed.

We were both young, literally kids. He was one year older then me. I was thirteen, or maybe even twelve, and he was my first crush. He was the first person, the first boy, who I ever fell in love with. I never told him.

Sometimes, the thought of him crosses my mind. I wonder where he is now. I wonder whether he stopped going to school or started putting effort into it. I've ever asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he usually was the one who talked and I was the one who listened. Maybe he's going to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a designer. Or maybe he simply does not exist anymore.
I know it's sad, even a little perverse, to think that he's dead, but the songs he listened to were not meaningless and I understood their lyrics pretty well. I hope he's not six feet under, of course. I would actually love to meet him again, maybe ask him what he remembers about me.

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I hope you enjoyed this article as much as I enjoyed writing it!
You can read other stuff from me here:
xoxo, remember to smile

This article was written by @tbhcaleb on the We Heart It Writers Team.