I’m Still Not Over My First Love

It’s been years since we parted ways, yet I still find myself thinking about them—my first love. Not every day, but often enough that I feel it in the quiet moments. A song, a smell, a random memory in the middle of the afternoon, and suddenly I’m right back in that chapter of my life. It’s strange how time can move on while the heart remains stuck in a moment. I’ve loved others since then, but I can’t say I’ve ever felt the same. The truth is, I’m still not over my first love, and I’m finally beginning to understand why.

First love is unlike anything else. It’s raw, powerful, and terrifying in its intensity. When you experience love for the first time, you don’t have a blueprint. There are no walls, no hesitation, no comparisons. It’s all-in, all-consuming, and deeply naive in the best and worst ways. I loved without limits, and I believed that kind of love would last forever. I thought we were the exception. Most people do when they’re young and in love. But just because it felt real didn’t mean it was meant to last.

We were inseparable for a while. Our lives felt woven together, even though we were just kids trying to figure out who we were. Everything was new. Every text, every late-night conversation, every kiss—it all felt like a movie. We talked about the future like it was guaranteed. But the truth is, we were too young to know how to navigate life’s twists. We grew in different directions. Reality set in. Life got complicated. And eventually, we broke up.

At the time, I told myself I’d move on. That it was just a phase, that there would be others—and there were. I dated again, I fell in love again, I even convinced myself I was over it. But deep inside, a part of me never fully let go. It wasn’t about wanting them back or hoping we’d reunite. It was more about the feeling they left behind. That feeling of being completely understood, completely seen, completely chosen for the first time.

What makes first love so hard to forget is that it’s not just about the person—it’s about who you were when you were with them. You were younger, more open, less guarded. You hadn’t been hurt yet, or at least not in the same way. That innocence, that vulnerability, is something that rarely comes back. Every love that follows is shaped by what you learned the first time you got your heart broken. And sometimes, the pain of losing that version of yourself is even more haunting than losing the person.

There’s also the way memory works. Our minds are good at romanticizing the past. We don’t always remember things as they were—we remember how they felt. We forget the fights, the doubts, the moments we wanted to walk away. What remains is a highlight reel of smiles, shared dreams, and soft touches. And so, it becomes easy to cling to that version of love, even when reality was far more complicated.

Being "not over my first love" doesn’t mean I’m stuck in the past. It means I carry a piece of that experience with me. It’s like a scar—a reminder of both pain and growth. I’ve come to realize that it’s okay to not fully move on in the way people expect. Some people leave an imprint so deep that forgetting them would mean forgetting a part of yourself. And maybe that’s not the goal. Maybe healing doesn’t always mean forgetting. Maybe it means learning how to live with the memory in a way that doesn’t hurt anymore.

Still, I won’t pretend it hasn’t affected me. There were times I pushed away people who genuinely cared because I was afraid they wouldn’t measure up to what I once had. I’ve found myself comparing new love to an old one that no longer exists. That’s not fair—to me or to them. First love has a way of setting a standard that can’t be replicated, because it was never just about compatibility. It was about discovery. The first time you realize what love can feel like—it’s magic. But chasing that exact feeling can keep you from embracing what love can become in other forms.

Eventually, I started to ask myself what I was really holding on to. Was it them? Or was it who I became when I loved them? And the answer, I think, is both. I miss the simplicity. I miss the way love felt before expectations, before baggage, before heartbreak. I miss the version of myself that didn’t yet know what it meant to lose someone so deeply. But I also recognize that person wasn’t whole. They were still becoming. And in many ways, that love helped me grow into who I am now.

I’m not ashamed to admit I still think about my first love. I don’t think it makes me weak or stuck. I think it makes me human. Some people come into your life not to stay, but to change you. And sometimes, they change you so much that you spend years trying to reconcile the before and after. That’s okay. We don’t owe anyone closure on a timeline. Some wounds heal slowly. Some memories stay soft even after the sharp edges have dulled.

The important thing is to be honest—with yourself and with the people you let into your heart afterward. Loving someone again after your first love doesn’t mean you have to forget the past. It just means you have to stop chasing it. Love evolves. It matures. It grows quieter, deeper, and more secure when it’s real. But it’s never quite the same. And that’s not a bad thing. It just means your heart is expanding, not replacing.

If you’re still not over your first love, you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re simply carrying a part of your story that shaped you. Let it remind you of what you’re capable of feeling. Let it inspire you to stay open, even if it hurts sometimes. And when new love comes—and it will—try to greet it not with comparison, but with curiosity. Because no matter how powerful your first love was, the best love might still be ahead of you.