I have already told you the story of the first time I said “I love you” to somebody. Here is something that is slightly cuter in nature: the story of my very first crush (that I remember).
Before I launch into the story proper, I just want to explain why I decided to write about this. My cousin, Jessica, happened to be involved in a small school bus love triangle when she was in Kindergarten. I don’t know all the details, but these two boys definitely fought for her attention, and one of them gave her a ring and promised to marry her in the future. At any rate, almost twenty years later, she ran into this same boy again – completely by chance! – and they have been dating since.
About several people, not just one:
I liked your excessive use of the exclamation point.
I liked that I could always smell you before I saw you, and not in the bad way.
I liked that you danced.
I liked that you accepted all my weirdness and baggage.
I liked you.
I loved that you and I had, and still have, the same passion for music.
I loved buying flowers for you.
I loved the way you chuckle at jokes.
I loved that I effortlessly remember your cell phone number, and I still do.
I loved you.
I hated that you never returned my texts or phone calls.
I hated saying goodbye.
I hated that you were never single and available.
I hated that you got over me so quickly.
I hated you.
I like that you still post “Happy birthday” on my wall.
I like when you randomly text me out of the blue.
I like that I can be myself all the time with you.
I like that I fundamentally understand you.
I like you.
I love that I can now think of our past without it hurting.
I love seeing you happy, even if it is not with me.
I love watching your success.
I love looking and getting lost in your eyes, even now.
I love you(?)
Honestly, there is nothing I hate about you anymore. I just sincerely hope that you are happy, and I wish you success in everything you do.
Photo credit: Myself
Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, from the Musée du Louvre