Lovestruck (Two) - Boy in black jean

A summer of kissy kiss promiscuous - 1996.

It happened when I was 16 in London. In total, I kissed 6 boys, but there was only one that I truly liked. He had blond hair, blue eyes, was medium height, and always wore black jeans. Our first kiss happened in a pub, with me wearing an ankle-length blue dress from Laura Ashley. After that, everything was history, and even more so now since that memory has lost its luster from the layering of years.

However, youth has its charm, persistence is one.

After returning home, other than telling the story of how all six guys were all at one venue one night and how I had to juggle between them was the story of the boy in black jean. Since the internet had just been invented, access was still limited, so I was stuck with snail mail. Regular weekly letters arrived and mailed. I passed the days by writing melancholy poems and keeping a journal:

"Everyone has a soul.

It's like the main thing in life.

I used to have one,

bright and alive.

Everyone has flesh.

It's like the basic thing in life.

I used to have one,

gorgeous and full of strife."

or something like:

"My passport lies on the desk in front of me. I start to think about whether I should do it or not. Will it be worth it? Or should it just take me away, away to Frankfurt/Main, Though he might have forgotten about the time that we shared, I just wanna see him one more time before my soul flees, before my heart empties. Are others like me when they're so love sick?"

Letters turned to postcards, postcards turned to random phone calls. But my thoughts of him stayed strong. Finally, he came to see me.

It was in a rainy summer. He arrived with his black jeans. I, the same, with my youth. His three-day stay was a dream come true in concept, because the revisit in reality after a year seemed less than how my mind played it out to be. The final chapter to this year-old fling.