Whenever I think about this night everything seems to move in slow motion. This concert was different than any concert I had gone to before. It moved me. It ran its fingers through my long curly hair. It drew my breath away and never gave it back. Is it possible to fall in love with an experience? I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since. The feeling of the base in my chest pumping my heart for me, the feeling of Wesley’s smooth lullaby voice dancing around in my ears, sounding like honey, the vibration of the floor pushing me upwards with every jump until I was floating with the confetti. The feeling of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The feeling of chills tickling the back of my neck. 

Maybe others had fallen in love with the way the confetti fell from the ceiling, the way it all danced and showered down on us. Maybe others had fallen in love with the way the neon blue hue flooded the stadium and illuminated the smiles and the happiness of hundreds. This was March 12th, the day before chaos broke loose. 

Leaving that stadium was like leaving a first love. Harsh and bitter. The cold of the air outside nipped at my nose and ears, teasing me. Making me want to run back inside and envelope myself in the warm memories I had made here. If I had known this was going to be the last time I had felt this way, maybe I would have said goodbye or stayed just a little longer.  

For months I still thought about it, replaying every song in my head, memorizing the movements of the lights until it became fuzzy and blended together. Now all I have is this picture. The picture that will forever remind me of my first love.