the first love

First love is like the first spring. It arrives after a long winter, without you knowing that somewhere beneath the frozen ground, something has already begun to grow.

Then you appear. And suddenly the sun feels warmer. The days grow longer. The world becomes a little brighter, even though nothing has really changed. You were not my whole life. But you were the first chapter I could never forget.

With you, I learned how a heart opens, how hope sounds when it laughs, and what it feels like to hold someone's hand and believe: maybe this will last forever. But spring never stays. Eventually, the cold days came. Words became quieter. Glances grew shorter. And a winter settled between us that neither of us could prevent.

People say that time heals all wounds. It doesn't. Time simply teaches us how to live with them. Because forgiveness does not mean forgetting. Forgiveness means letting go of the pain without throwing away the story. And I have forgiven. The mistakes. The words left unsaid. The goodbye. But forget? How could I forget the person who first showed me that a heart can beat faster than reason can think?

Some people do not stay. But they leave traces behind. Like the sun that set long ago and yet still leaves warmth upon your skin. You are no longer part of my path. No longer part of my everyday life. No longer part of my future. But you will always be part of my story.

And maybe that is the truth about first love: It leaves. It changes. It loses its place beside you. But never its place within your heart. There it remains. Not as longing. Not as regret. But as a reminder that we were once young, brave enough to love, and vulnerable enough to grow from it.

And every time spring returns, every time the sun breaks through the clouds after a long winter, I think of you for a moment. Not because I want to go back. But because a part of me will always be grateful that you existed.