It’s just a little crush
Not like I faint every time we touch
It’s just some little thing
Not like everything I do depends on you
~ “Crush” Jennifer Paige
Dusk is my favorite time of day. I just love being able to drive around with my headlights and sunglasses on. Last night, as I was driving with the windows down and the radio up, Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” came on, and I could only think of one thing: Matt Krueger.
Matt Krueger was the epic crush of my freshman year of college. He was a sophomore who was really smart, incredibly funny, and oh so aesthetically pleasing. What I didn’t know then is that he was also probably the nicest guy in the world because he knew about my monster crush (as did everyone else who knew us) and never said a word about it so as not to hurt my feelings.
Crushes come in all shapes and sizes. Take, for instance, my friend B. She had a huge crush for most of her high school career (and probably a little before and after) on her best guy friend. She never talked to me about it, but, like my aforementioned friends, I always just knew. For my part, I think he liked her back. They hung out all the time and even went to some school dances together. They never expressed their feelings and now they live in different cities—different states, even.
Thanks to friends and hindsight, I know what would have happened had I revealed my crush to Mr. Krueger. Though it still would have hurt my 19-year-old heart, he would have been kind enough to let me down easy. I think we were both comfortable enough with letting it go unspoken: him not having to hurt me, me not having to give up my crush.
Because crushes are fun, aren’t they? In the right context, a crush is “just some little thing” that tickles the back of your mind and tugs the corners of your heart. In the moment, they’re light-hearted and giddy, pitter-pattering hearts and butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
Looking back, crushes are very much like the time between day and night. They’re fleeting and glorious like the setting sun that glinted off the rims of my shades. They’re also subdued like the darkness that unfurled as a curtain from above. They’re a little bit of both, light and night.
“Comfortably Numb” came to an end as the sun dipped beneath the horizon and I rolled into my driveway. With it went my favorite time of day and the memories of what feels like a million years ago. And that’s okay.
