This is the first word that comes to mind when I think about my first relationship. It was during the last part of my senior year of high school and the summer that followed (April 2004-Sept 2004. Through December 2004). He was terribly romantic, we had many adventures to San Francisco, Yosemite, movies and other community events. He wrote me cute little notes, protected me and never pressured me into anything.
He also had a crush on his best friends sister, who was a good friend of mine as well. (He will deny this statement until the day he dies, but it was just so obvious to everyone). I remember the day he broke up with me so clearly. At the time, he told me that it was just over, the relationship had run its course. I was barely 18, and though I was secretly devastated, I accepted that reason.
I was later told (I can not remember if it was him or someone else who told me this) that he thought something was starting up between him and his crush, so he broke things off with me in case something did spark. We officially broke up in September of 2004, but we still acted like we were together until December of that year.