Walk

I think theres a difference between your first crush and your first real crush. Maybe it was just for me. I think no one actually pursues the first girl they think is 'neato', maybe its supposed to be that way.

My first crush was in third grade. I think it was then I realized how beautiful a girl's face could be. Earlier in life you see them as just really fragile people you cant play with as rough as your guy friends, but you pretty much have no desire to be near them anyway. I couldnt tell you why I liked her, not now anyway. I think it was purely for physical purposes, as physical as you can be when your 10. She had a few freckles on the back of her neck, I used to trace them with my eyes all the time. I thought it made her different, and I liked it. I remember in fifth grade she told me she liked me, and I made the age old mistake of telling a couple kids on the bus, the next day they told everyone and that brief 24 hour 'relationship' was over. I was about four inches shorter than her too so I think that might have had something to do with it. But I'll always remember tracing those freckles. I wonder if she remembers anything about me.

My first real crush was in sixth grade. It was ongoing, really. One of those things that gain momentum with time until their so large you dont know what to do but imagine all the possibilities, until you realize the window for all of them has passed. I always think about this girl as my lesson in life I never quite learned; to be more open and not to hesitate speaking your mind. She had short dark hair, down to her neck, that always seemed to be straight no matter the time of day. Large eyes that beamed with life, even when she was obviously tired they still sparkled. Dont worry, I didnt go out of my way to stare at this girl, but in three of my classes she sat directly across from me. Maybe thats when the crush started, maybe not. She had the softest voice and always came across as very smart. I bet whatever she's doing right now, she's doing well. I'm not going to go into detail on how this ended, but lets just say I had a very clear opportunity and literally watched it sail on by. And im not talking about 'there was this second when our eyes met and I knew I could have said something" no, this was laid very clear out in front of me, was asked to be had, and I ignored it. Maybe god hit the pause button on his Ti-Vo and went to go find some beer, only never to press resume. All I know is for the rest of middle and high school I could not speak a single word to her. I think it was out of embaressment, or maybe because I was socially inept at the time. I dont know. I always had something to say. Some days she looked ravishing, others she looked like she could use a friend, some she was sad, others just showed how smart she was. I think that for the longest time she really was the most beautiful girl I ever laid eyes on. People just say that sometimes when they are trying to exxagerate someone or something, but im dead serious. Ive always been a face guy. To be fair I'm also a fan of asses, but I didnt notice them for quite a few years after my fondness for eyes developed. I wish there was some way for me to explain it, but no english degree, none of my poems combined, and nothing I could ever say would ever match the way she deserves to be described. Maybe its just me, and maybe to other people she's just another girl, but then again she's my first real crush, and no one elses.

I'm talking about this because ive never shared it before, and because I didnt see the point. But I think everyone should sit there and think about the first time you really looked at a person and saw nothing but good in them. It rarely happens. Usually in high school you start to get dicked over, or feel like you are, and your perception of people and situations changes. You realize with the good comes the bad, and no ones perfect, but their flaws make them beautiful. I agree, but theres always the one. Maybe when we're that young no one is flawed, or maybe I just didnt care. But in my eyes, she'll always be the Hope Diamond. Perfect in every way, but stored under lock and key in some foreign country where you cant speak the language let alone be able to find it. And if you do, theres about a thousand other people trying to get to its flawlessnes. Some wanting to put a dent in perfection, others to hold onto it because they have nothing better do to with their lives, and then theres those that view it from afar. I think I fall into the latter, because I dont know if I'd even know what to do with an opportunity again. She's both my kryptonite and my salvation. I think its this situation that made me be a romantic, because I never wanted to go a moment without being able to express my feelings. I had a wall blocking my emotions, and then I opened the floodgates, fully open to everything until recently. I've learned better, at least from everyone else.

I'm still very young, and theres a lot of life left to live. I'm probably going to write some poem tonight, and then another next week, and then several more over the course of this year about the beauty I see all around, either in someone or something, or a future relationship. I'll grow older, and everything that happened when I was 12 and 13 will seem like some fading memory that will eventually disappear. It's an inevitable that one day a bigger diamond will be found that replaces the Hope Diamond, and some museum will bury it in the basement, to collect dust and be forgotten. But the thing is that no matter how big the gems get, or even if you own thousands, you will always cherish the one out of reach. You never got to have it, and you never will. Maybe for the best. Upon further inspection, if even from under a microscope, they're always flaws present in something. Spend enough time and you can always find errors in even the most fool proof of inventions. But, somehow you know that isnt the case. You cant prove it, but you have an inkling in the pit of your stomache to the tips of your toes that this one fascination is truly unique. You might even have to put on special rose colored glasses made just for you to be aware of it. But its true. To be known only in greek tragedies and heartbroken laments, and to be told to no one. I remember in twelfth grade one day she asked me the time in the hallway and I stuttered for ten seconds before she walked inside the room. I think that was the last time I had an audible conversation with her that lasted any duration.

I knew what time it was. I'd like to tell her, it was eleven fifteen, she's beautiful, and they were serving chicken patties with french fries. That kind of information is useful, you know. Us wallflowers know it by heart. and us hearts love a tragedy, no matter how close to home it is.