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When I was 17 years old I fell in love for the first time. Her name was Saoirse, which is the Irish word for ‘freedom’. She was a tall, well-spoken and elegant girl who was 2 months my younger. She had the most striking blue eyes I had ever seen, pale and wispy, but at the same time sharp and piercing. Her smile was always so wide and she wasn’t stingy about showing it. We never got too far, at most managing a peck on the cheek and a hug goodbye, but I was more than delighted to simply hold her hand as we strolled through town. That girl had my stomach in knots more than anyone before or since. However, she had one or two problems with her family at home, and we were both inexperienced at relationships, so she decided it was best we shouldn’t continue going out. My first relationship lasted all of two months. I was gutted, but I was left with two months’ worth of joyful memories. We stayed loose friends, but were in no way close to one another after time passed and I eventually stopped loving her.

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