The Tale of a Summer Crush.

You know how sometimes you look at a person and realize this is the last time you’re going to see them? You might have spent a month together. Sitting about two feet away from each other. You’re an intern, and he’s a fresher. You don’t really know him much. Yet you pay attention. His favourite book. How he likes his coffee. His favorite school memory.
Maybe he never shuts up. Talking to random strangers on the lift. He knows how to talk right, something you haven’t seen in the guys you know. He knows how to make them all comfortable, while he leaves you in a mess.
You know you can’t breathe with him around. It’s not because he leaves you breathless, but because he smells good. So good that you can’t help but smile, so good that you can’t think straight. He smells like the first rain of the year, or the flowers in the Spring. No guy you know smells that good.

And he looks beautiful. Maybe guys don’t like being called that, but he’s not some guy. He’s him. When he wears a clean shaven look, you want to tell him not to shave, even though you hate facial hair on men. It sounds funny to you, and you laugh. He looks at you, and you quickly look away.
He knows how to carry off a white shirt and trousers, and you know there’s nothing sexier than that. You want to punch yourself for staring, but you can’t look away. You know the time you have with him is a month, and you want to memorize his every quirk in detail.
On the casual Friday, you see him sporting a tee of your favorite band, and you wonder what hit you. He looks like a school boy dressed that way, the innocent child with the brightest smile.

When he speaks, you have goosebumps. You haven’t heard a better sound in life. When he hums, you want to hum with him, but you realize you sound like a goat when you sing, and it isn’t a good idea after all. So you hear him hum, and take in that music, and flow with it.

And that one time you sat right next to him in the cafeteria, eating breakfast, you couldn’t think straight. You could smell him, and it was bewitching. That time his hand accidentally brushed yours, you wanted to stop breathing then and there. It made you feel different, and somehow full.
And then you spoke to him for the first time. And funnily enough, he told you that his favourite book is a classic that’s been on your reading list since tenth grade, and you never read it. You curse yourself for that. You talk about Khaled Hosseini and Dan Brown. He hasn’t read any of it. You desperately think of another book, but the conversation has stirred to another topic you don’t have a say on.

The next time you see him in the cafeteria, it is for lunch. But he isn’t sitting with anyone, while you are sitting with your boss, who has nothing interesting to say to you. They discuss somebody’s wedding, and you zone out. He sits there all alone, and you have this urge to get up and sit with him, but you don’t.

You know you have to talk to him someday for your own peace, but you know you shouldn’t. You know everytime you think of him, you want to reach out and tell him things you won’t tell your girlfriends. You want to scream Marry me or sing Teenage Dream on top of your desk to him. At other times you think of doing things, even thinking of which might be illegal, and you blush.

You know all of this is crazy, because you’ve never had these thoughts before. You’ve never tried to guess the personality of a person by observing them. You’ve never deferred from logic, and given in to your senses. You have never made up pick up lines in your head or been any creepier. You have never had your pituitary gland taking over your prefrontal lobes or cerebral cortex.  Sometimes you were frustrated because he had that effect on you, but you knew it was too funny a predicament.

2a592322817af8edab23609c1842d233
Yet, you knew you don’t want to talk to him because it made no sense to you. You weren’t afraid, you are aware of it. You were just not interested in doing anything about it. You realize it’s just a crush, and it will go away. You realize that you don’t have the time or energy, and hence the willingness of nurturing a romantic relationship. You knew you had better things to worry about, and brilliant things to do.

He, you joked was the sun, and you his sunflower. You would reciprocate his every move, and without him, your internship might not have had a value. You were perhaps going through tough times, and he was the sun you waited for.

You realize how creepy it is to know these things about him, but knowing them makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. He might have been the food for your soul, because you know you feel full again.

But then again, he was your summer crush, and would give you memories to cherish a lifetime. He taught you things about yourself you didn’t know about you. Experiencing this was, certainly, like reading Poetry. It made you feel different.

 

Advertisements

About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

8 responses to “The Tale of a Summer Crush.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: