maybe the reason your heart skipped a beat when you first saw him was no coincidence, no first flutterings of love, maybe not even hop scotching butterflies of lust. perhaps it was in the flop of his hair or the blue of his eyes but the logistics are unimportant: what matters is that something in him triggered a memory from somewhere inside of you (in that moment you could almost feel the sun on your arms and the weight of another boy against you, still and heavy and warm.)
perhaps when you snuggled close to him later you were hugging the memory of someone else close to you. maybe when you stood on tiptoes outside in the dark to kiss him you were picturing the one you lost in your head, thinking that maybe he had come back to you, come to find you, come to claim you. maybe you knew you were fooling yourself. you left before things got carried away (another two seconds and you would have gone, head over feet. you never confused love with lust, or love with sex but sometimes you just confused love with non-love. )