Not Meant to Be Forever, But Forever Remembered

Netflix’s Forever Isn’t Just About First Love—It’s About Who We Become Because of It

Mara Brock Akil’s Forever, Netflix’s 2025 reimagining of Judy Blume’s classic novel, is more than a teen drama. It’s a mirror. A nostalgic, intimate, and at times heart-wrenching reflection of what it means to fall in love before you fully know who you are.

Set in a vividly modern 2018 Los Angeles, Forever follows two Black teenagers—Keisha Clark (Lovie Simone) and Justin Edwards (Michael Cooper Jr.)—as they navigate the thrill and ache of first love, identity, and independence.

From the outside, it’s a coming-of-age love story. But to anyone who’s ever lost themselves in someone else too soon, it’s a soul-deep reckoning.

Seeing Your Younger Self Through a Lens

Watching Forever feels like watching your younger self through a softened lens—one that lets you hold both the beauty and the heartbreak with compassion. The series captures the all-consuming intensity of first love, the kind that makes you think “this is it,” before you’ve even figured out who you are. It speaks to the part of us that made someone else our world, not realizing we were slowly losing pieces of ourselves in the process.

Keisha and Justin’s relationship is tender and passionate, filled with promise. But as their individual dreams start pulling them in different directions, cracks form—not because they don’t love each other, but because they’re still becoming who they are. The soundtrack—featuring SZA, Childish Gambino, and Janelle Monáe—becomes a living heartbeat, perfectly mirroring the emotional shifts in their journey. The words, the songs, the silence between conversations—it all speaks. To the heart. To memory.

What Christian Did Was a Violation

But Forever doesn’t shy away from hard truths. One of the more gutting moments in the series comes when Christian—an old flame and friend—crosses a boundary. His actions are a violation, and the show treats it as such. It forces a conversation around consent, pressure, and how women are often forced to carry the emotional weight of others’ projections.

Keisha’s decision to attend Christian’s prom, despite their complicated history, stems from family pressure and internalized guilt—not desire. The weight of trying to be everything for everyone—obedient daughter, loyal girlfriend, “good girl”—pushes her into a corner. And in that moment, she forgets to consider how her choices could harm Justin, herself, or the fragile trust she was rebuilding. Still, she’s human. And Forever allows her the space to make mistakes, learn, and still be worthy of love.

The Power and Pain of Parents

Much of what drives Keisha and Justin stems from their home lives—particularly the presence, or absence, of emotional support.

Justin’s father is one of the quiet heroes of the series. His steady, affirming presence is proof that a loving, present father can change everything. His wisdom, patience, and love help ground Justin, offering him the tools to navigate manhood with integrity. In contrast, his mother—though deeply loving—is overbearing. Her protectiveness, while coming from a place of trauma and care, spills into control. She doesn’t trust Keisha at first. She doesn’t believe Justin can survive heartbreak. But ultimately, she learns to respect the love they share—even when Keisha lies or chooses herself. That growth mirrors Justin’s own journey.

Keisha’s mother, on the other hand, reflects a different kind of pressure.

Her push for Keisha to be perfect, to succeed, to choose “right,” becomes both a motivator and a weight. It’s her friend, not her mother, who reminds her that love is worth fighting for—who encourages her to show up, apologize, and own her part in the rift with Justin. And Keisha does. She travels to him, in her own way saying: I choose you, but I’m learning to choose me too.

Friendships, Dreams, and a Bittersweet End

The friends surrounding Keisha and Justin aren’t just background noise—they’re mirrors, anchors, and sometimes, catalysts. Justin’s best friend’s musical dream and his acceptance into a university help Justin remember who he was before love became his entire identity. The celebration of their wins doesn’t diminish the pain of parting; it just reminds us that young people can hold joy and grief at the same time.

By the end, Keisha heads to Howard. Justin makes a powerful decision to defer love and choose himself—an act of bravery we often aren’t taught is okay. And it’s the last scene, with Moon River playing softly, that brings everything home. Watching Justin walk away, not out of anger, not with resentment—but with love—is one of the most emotionally mature depictions of the first heartbreak we’ve seen on screen.

He lets her go. And we let go with him.

Lessons We All Needed Sooner

Forever doesn’t just tell a love story—it rewrites the blueprint. It shows us that your first love, your first heartbreak, your first sexual partner, and your best friend can sometimes all be one person—and that person can shape you in ways that linger. That kind of love can awaken your best self… but also expose your deepest wounds.

We wish we’d had these words when we were younger. That it’s okay to outgrow someone. That leaving can be loving. That we are allowed to put ourselves first, even when it hurts. That not all love is meant to last, but some is meant to teach. 

And that maybe, just maybe, the people who aren’t meant to stay forever… are the ones we’re meant to remember forever.