The mixed aroma of crayons and wooden pencils filled the air from September to June 

Rugs of coarse and itchy yarn held the children sitting criss-cross-applesauce

While baskets carried a jungle of picture books 

My fifth-grade classroom saw the beginning of

 constant giggling, sweaty palms, stumbling words and blazing cheeks of embarrassment 

An era of meaningless crushes 

And my first chance at love 

He had a basketball in one hand and a Rubik’s Cube in the other

The best of both worlds—sporty and nerdy all in one

His knee-high socks, ribbed and distressed, were almost always paired 

with flashy blue and yellow Jordans 

He wore Nike shorts all year round

Through snow, hail and rain

That was only the frosting that covered the layers of a warm velvety cake

He was the boy who willingly explained the concept of multiplying numbers by nine using his fingers

The boy who played the oboe, transforming a puff of air into beautiful melodies

The boy who woke up the ugly laugh sleeping deep inside of me 

The boy who was my first crush 

His eyes turned on a switch, sending signals to a circuit inside of me,

quickening the rhythm of my heart; the beat echoed throughout my body

His words unleashed a million butterflies into my stomach

He was like glue to my eyes

Like a magnet to my thoughts

Like skates, letting me glide over ice 

Like fire that warmed my hands on a dark, cold night

My first chance at love

Process

My old elementary school journal inspired me to write this poem. It brought back memories that have been hiding in the back of my head. Through this poem, I wanted to paint a picture of my elementary school self in the eyes of a sophomore in high school, almost six years later. I first laid out my naive love story in a fifth-grade classroom and wrote how my first crush made me feel.