There’s something about the first person you truly connected with that never really leaves you. I’m not talking about a childhood crush or a fleeting infatuation—I mean the first person you let in. The first person you shared your world with. The first person who saw you in a way no one else had before. Even if you’ve long accepted that they’re not meant for you, even if you know they were never good for you, even if you’ve built a new life without them—the feeling lingers.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How, after all this time, your heart can still drop at the mere sight of them. How it races just like it did the first time. It’s not longing. It’s not desire. It’s just something—a ghost of the past refusing to fade. And that’s where the real question lies: Is that love? Or is it just the memory of what love once felt like?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot, especially while reflecting on stories I’ve seen play out in TV shows. Take Rachel from Suits, for example. She’s in a perfect relationship with Mike Ross, yet there’s this undeniable flicker of something when she crosses paths with someone from her past—someone who, objectively, was a terrible person. A liar. A cheater. A man with a wife. Yet, despite all of that, that feeling still exists. Why?
Or look at Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City—the way she spent years tangled up in the gravitational pull of Mr. Big. She loved him so deeply, so recklessly, and for what? To waste years of her life chasing something that never truly loved her back in the way she deserved? Yet, even after time passed, even after heartbreak, even after moving on—he was still there, lingering in the corners of her mind, always pulling her back.
And that’s the thing. It’s not about them. It’s about what they represented. The firsts. The vulnerability. The nights spent spilling secrets, thinking it would last forever. The moments when they made you feel like the center of the universe. That’s why it’s so hard to fully let go—not because you still want them, but because they were the first person who had you.
Maybe it’s not love at all. Maybe it’s just muscle memory. Maybe it’s the way nostalgia plays tricks on us, romanticizing the good and blurring out the bad. Maybe it’s the comfort of familiarity. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s proof that some people leave permanent imprints on our souls, whether we want them to or not.
But here’s what I do know: a feeling is just a feeling. It doesn’t mean you have to act on it. It doesn’t mean it defines you. And it definitely doesn’t mean you should let it dictate your life. Because at the end of the day, love—real love—shouldn’t be something that keeps you stuck in the past. It should be something that propels you forward.
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