๐ฏ๐ฝ๐ ๐ต๐๐ ๐ผ ๐ฟ๐๐๐๐น ๐ถ๐ 15 ๐ฎ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐ฟ๐พ๐๐๐ ๐พ๐ ๐๐ ๐ป๐๐ถ๐น
I still love the first boy I ever loved, even though I know damn well it wasnโt mutual. I was just a chapter in his life, while he was the whole book in mine.
When I say my first love story, I want to clarify something: not in the way people imagine love stories. There was nothing perfect about it. It was mysterious, childish, and very innocent from my side. It was my first gate into experiencing feelings for someone outside of the love I had always known for my parents or siblings.
But somehow, even now, years later, my heart still reacts before my brain does. If I see him randomly, I still feel that little shake inside me.
And what confuses me the most is that now Iโm older. I understand things from a totally different perspective from a feminist perspective, from the perspective of a girl who knows what she wants, from a more emotionally mature perspective.
Some of the things he said that I once thought were complimentsโฆ werenโt really compliments. They were comments about my body, sometimes framed as praise, sometimes not. Some of them were subtle sexual hints that I didnโt fully understand at the time.
I was so innocent back then, waiting for my crazy love story like in the movies I grew up watching, completely clueless about the reality of it all. Back then I just felt flattered. Maybe I felt the kind of attention from the opposite gender that I had always quietly craved.
Now I realize that some of those things would probably make me uncomfortable if someone said them to me today.
So sometimes I ask myself:
Why do I still romanticize him?
I think nostalgia is powerful like that. It doesnโt just preserve memoriesโit preserves the version of us who felt them. Sometimes we donโt actually miss the person; we miss the version of ourselves who loved them.
I mourn that little innocent girl in me who loved him. She was so pure, believing that something beautiful would finally happen to her, daydreaming about living happily ever after with that one boy.
When I remember him, Iโm not just remembering the boy. Iโm remembering the girl I was softer, younger, experiencing everything for the first time. Every word felt important. Every small moment felt like a story.
First love writes itself very deeply in us. Itโs like writing on a white page for the first time it canโt be erased easily. Even when we grow up and see things more clearly, that first emotional imprint doesnโt completely disappear.
Maybe nostalgia doesnโt mean the past was perfect.
Maybe it just means the feelings were real.


I love this. Totally understand what you mean about the way first love lingers ๐