I saw you near the elevators today and I have to admit you still look good–different, but definitely good, after almost 30 years. I didn’t immediately recognize you because you’re much leaner now, more handsome than cute if I will be asked to describe you.
How are you? I saw the recognition in your eyes. Do you remember? I do. You were my so-called “puppy love”, the very first person who made by go THUMP THUMP THUMP. It was the summer after 3rd grade when we first saw each other. You were 10, I was 9. I was hanging out with some friends who lived on the same street that you did and you passed by on your bike. It was a blue Shimano racer, I remember, and our eyes were on each other until you disappear around the corner.
I did not know what I felt then because it was the first time that I was attracted to somebody of the opposite sex. I couldn’t put a name on the giddy feeling that I had with just the thought of seeing you around our village but one thing I was sure of was that it was a magical summer.
But summers end, kids grow up and the thrill of young love eventually fades as ours did when school started. Those were the days when cellphones and the internet were not yet available and as the days between catching a glimpse of each other became longer we eventually lost touch. Your family moved away and ours eventually did.
Thirty years later here we are in an elevator hallway filled with strangers and I look at you–no more than 10 feet away–and I still get that giddy feeling. Not because I am still attracted to you but because you reminded me how good young love feels.
I still remember.