In the summer of 15;
I fell in love before 16.

Sweet as it was, we both felt stuck in an
everyday lover's dream.
High school sweethearts, spending our time
kissing in every free period. No thought of
taking things slow. In the three months it became
so serious. I was young, she was older; she had
the richness of my heart, and I felt poorer.
My bae, I used to call her. Back in the world's
crazy phase, the good old days. When boo, was
part of the common pet names.

I'd save the small change of tuck; to try my luck,
of buying things to keep her heart. We never started
off with hugs, but loved kissing inside an empty class.
Love letters I always wrote for her, were too many.
Filled with my confessions, ***** intentions,
and their best mentions.

My first inspiration to pen out poetry.

The summer of 15,
filled with the songs about loyalty.
I openly told her all my secrets, wishes, and all. I had
fallen in love, but never did fall.

I saved up to buy her a birthday present. A silver watch,
perfumes, lover letters, and a necklace.
The first Valentine I got a rose, and was truly
lost for words. Her name said in vein, sent chills
in all my nerves.

But I was dating her, and all of her friends,
buying out my heart for her,
to be all her friend's shares and spends

In the summer of 16,
we broke up on Valentine's day. Her
eye was caught by another, of higher richness to me.
I was told I should feel guilty.
"I did it because, you did it first to me!"
All I could muster was a long "really"

But she'd meet karma, and along with teenage drama.
The one that wooed her heart, did woo three others.
I went on to lose her number, in classes barely
speaking to each other. Having peers, insult me for
potential years, just added to the hidden marks
of last night's tears.

In the summer of 17,
my idea of love had changed.
I wasn't feeling the same about the event's of love
coming my way.

So now you know why I hate Valentine's day.