My first love was a university romance, quite short, we were star-crossed lovers, pulled together but ever apart (cue violins and music in a minor key). However the affair shook me to the core and recovery was slow.
A few years after we graduated I heard he was married and a while later I married my VDH, also a university friend. For the first few years I was haunted by the fear of my past romance coming back into my life unattached. Fortunately he was in one of those professions that had published membership lists always available at the local library so I knew where he lived and worked, and it was well away from where we lived.
One day I woke up and knew if I ever saw him again, the most I would feel was friendship. My DH, our children and the life we had made together made the past, just what it was, the past.
Once or twice recently I have googled my first love's name and profession but nothing has come up. I suspect if we met now we would probably have nothing in common. I am not sure I would want to make contact anyway. My Romeo and Juliet romance, without the deaths, lives on in my memory, tucked in its little box, smelling faintly of lavender. I would like to leave it that way. It might all crumble away if once exposed to the cruel light of day.