Friday, November 23, 2012

The Crush


The first boy I have ever liked was my childhood playmate. Looking back at our younger, innocent days makes me feel nostalgic. The memory paints a smile on my lips.

His physical features pretty much broadcasts his half-American descent. Skin, ivory white. Nose, long and pointed. Lips, almost blood red. Cheeks, full and rosy. He was the tall and cute mestizo kid who lived two blocks away from our old house. He was every girl's ultimate first crush material.

The memory of a first crush is a reminder of how simple life used to be. He made me happy because he would always let me decide which game to play or which toy to play with. I liked him because he made me happy. I looked forward to his family's visits over to our house because I liked him. Nothing too complicated, except for the part where I didn't know how to react whenever the older people teased us. I didn't even know that what they were doing was teasing. All I knew was that I would always turn tomato red whenever it happened. Awkward.

My first crush will always have a special place in my heart. He was the first to make me realize that I am capable of feeling certain things toward people. I just didn't know then that when I grew up, I would be this mushy hopeless-romantic piece.
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Photo taken from this page.

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