If I ever remember your birthday, it could be of three things: (1) you’re family, (2) you’re a friend, or (3) I spent grade school and high school with you for a huge chunk of my life and it stuck in my head.
For this lady, though, it’s a bit special. We were classmates since fourth grade. I had a huge crush on her even before I hit puberty. For half of my high school years, my idea of love revolved around her.
I’d be cautious, though, to call her my first love. But I did feel strongly about her. I’ll hang out with her crowd when I can. I’d do assignments for her. I think of her when I hear love songs. Heck, I’ll listen to Westlife for her. I’d get anxiety attacks of what I would say is jealousy, when other guys talk to her.
I’d be cautious to call her my first love for a lot of reasons. For one, my concept of love stems straight out of a simple crush. My concept of love is mainly what I see on TV. My concept of love revolves around her, but not so much about me. My concept of love is incomplete, and I’m self-aware of that.
In between summers and school years I stopped pursuing her. Looking back, I didn’t really think I did. I my have lacked declaration, passion, ownership. We’re in the same class and we were casual and we got to hang out, but there’s nothing cheesy or sensual or magnetic anymore.
Happy birthday, Peach. You’ve got an adorable family of your own now. I would’ve said you’re the cutest accountant/accounting person I’ve known, but given my life choices now I know that’s not true.
If anything, thanks for making a young boy feel. It’s a jump-start to a great feeling that, years later, I would still have no idea about.
I hope you got what you wished for on your birthday. I hope you get to spend many more.
True love looks good on you. At least, isa sa atin alam na what love really is about.
I guess, for now, that’s good enough.