Crush cycle

Have you ever seen a person and felt that this person was so beautiful that your heart ached even at the sight of him? Have you ever felt the need to protect this person from any harm, to keep this person's ears clean from impurities and vulgarities, that this person deserved the very best and you, yes YOU, were the one to do it?
You spend all your free time, trying to draw out his name in the prettiest possible way. You rave on and on to your friends about his life, about his schedule, about his habits (be it bad or good). When he cuts his hair, you know. When he changes his bag, you gush about his good taste. Your fingers itch to doodle his name all over your textbooks, but you resist because you know your friends may borrow your books, discover your secret, and blab it to everyone else.
Then you start having problems in Maths…
Mr. & Mrs. (insert his surname)
Ms. (your surname) + Mr. (his surname)
= (Your future baby's name)
Mrs. (his surname-your surname)
You worship the ground he walks on, and try to mix with his friends. You go all out to make him smile at you, and when he finally does, you drool at the sight of those pearly whites. You might’ve swooned too, had your friends not been standing nearby giving you the thumbs-up. You start to flirt with him, but because you feel so unnatural doing it, you actually start to embarrass yourself in front of him. Doing everything the wrong way, making him quite pissed at you, and leaving you quite helpless.
Then you start hearing rumours about him liking another girl, and you find out all you can about her. She's pretty, slim, witty and intelligent - all the things that you probably aren't in his eyes. You feel despondent, and to some extent, suicidal even. Where's that ruler? It's a dangerous object to have around at this time. Your friends can't cheer you up at all, and you mope. At night, you dream of him, you think of him, you want to call him up but once he picks up the phone, you hang up.
The following day, you sit with your friends in the canteen, and force them to listen to your misery. In the midst of their pity and sympathy, a face in the crowd snares your attention. Something stirs in you, and you feel all flushed. A pink bubble of happiness threatens to ooze out of your every pore in your face. "Who's that guy?!" You cut your friend short in mid-sentence. "Find out everything you can about him. His name, how old he is, and most importantly, his number!"
And so the cycle continues.

posted by sarah inc.
composed by Medha