I want a love that feels like the 1980s—
not filtered, not rushed,
not measured in snaps and typing dots.
I want mixtapes instead of playlists,
notes folded in lockers,
landline calls that last too long
because neither of us wants to hang up first.
I want meeting at the same spot after school,
no texting to confirm—
just trust that you’ll be there.
I want slow dances in living rooms,
movies on VHS,
and the kind of relationship
where eye contact says more
than a hundred messages ever could.
As a junior in high school,
surrounded by screens and scrolling,
I crave something older than me—
something simple,
something steady,
something that feels real enough
to hold without a password.
I don’t want modern love.
I want the kind that waits,
the kind that writes,
the kind that chooses each other
without the whole world watching.
May 4
May 4, 2026 at 1:26 PM UTC
I want a love that feels like the 1980s—
not filtered, not rushed,
not measured in snaps and typing dots.
I want mixtapes instead of playlists,
notes folded in lockers,
landline calls that last too long
because neither of us wants to hang up first.
I want meeting at the same spot after school,
no texting to confirm—
just trust that you’ll be there.
I want slow dances in living rooms,
movies on VHS,
and the kind of relationship
where eye contact says more
than a hundred messages ever could.
As a junior in high school,
surrounded by screens and scrolling,
I crave something older than me—
something simple,
something steady,
something that feels real enough
to hold without a password.
I don’t want modern love.
I want the kind that waits,
the kind that writes,
the kind that chooses each other
without the whole world watching.
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