Crushed

fifteen

I used to stare at the back of your head fondly, when I probably should've been doing something productive and pertinent to the success of my future.

I used to blush when you directed any words in my direction.

I used to steal little glances at you in the hallway, butterflies erupting when our eyes made contact.

But I guess not much has changed since then, when I think about it. I still take pleasure in gazing at the center swoop of your wild hair, familiar locks that allow me to pretend for a moment that you are the same boy I fell in love with. I still redden slightly at the things you say. And my stomach most definitely still churns when you look at me.