ABOUT THE POEM: This is not a love poem. It’s a document of formation-how a self learns loss before it learns language for it.Title – Teenage Crush
Today it returned again-
a heavy scoop from those years,
my first amateur crush.
Love at first sight,
third day of school.
We drank the same brands-
no, those were the paper-cut days.
She was beautiful,
eyes sparking,
and I was clever enough
to believe only I noticed.
Commerce for her,
computer science and maths for me.
She didn’t want friendship.
She wasn’t interested.
She brought her sister, friends, boys-
even a gorilla.
My whole class poured outside,
muting the wannabe gangstas
and their cheap bravado.
It didn’t just break my heart;
it made me doubt the entire crowd.
After that, confusion became routine.
Four months later,
she came to speak to me.
I had nerve, but I was shy-
a decent, dashing schoolboy,
a scholar playing it safe.
We fought again
because I didn’t ask
if she wanted a cold drink
from the canteen.
In the months that followed
she teased me relentlessly,
a sixteen-year-old girl
turning my face red.
I think of her often.
The last time I saw her-
the final day of school-
she was walking away.
That was my love.
