We were five, still untouched by school and we were having the best summer of our lives. Our mothers took us on a holiday in the countryside – to a little wooden cottage in the hills. For us – city kids – could something be better?
Me and Mirko were more than just best friends. We were both only-children and for each other we were more like brother and sister. We were together all the time – we could spend hours and hours playing – and were always sad when our mothers said it’s time to go home. He was the first to kiss me and propose to me (with a ring!), so I guess I can even call him my first boyfriend. We loved each other the way only children love: purely, limitlessly, wholeheartedly, without questions or prejudices. Our clothes, appearance or social backgrounds didn’t matter one bit. We were the happiest kids.
Then one day Mirko’s family moved out of the city and our parents drifted apart. Just like that, my best friend and my first love was gone. And I never saw him again. It’s been almost twenty years now and I know absolutely nothing about him.
I often think of him, though… Thinking how he’s doing, what he studied or whether he thinks of me sometimes too.
There are many things you don’t remember about your childhood. Only very strong memories stay and you hold on to them. The memory of this holiday is engraved in my mind particularly strongly.
I sometimes think I’d love to meet my childhood sweetheart again and catch up on everything we’d missed.
But… maybe it’s better this way. Maybe we should stay in each other’s hearts the way we were – those happy five year olds who loved to play together.