by Jennifer Sanchez

Created on: April 02, 2010

A glance my way used to determine whether my day would be a good one or bad one. If ignored, I was going to be pleasant company, but if things went my way, I would be the giddiest person in the room. It was kind of the most ridiculous thing, this sick twisted thing between the precious boy and myself. We would glance at each other, each pretending we didn't notice, and then continue on our way.

Silly as it may seem, this was the way we interacted. We spoke the language of teenage infatuation. Curiosity, attraction, and a tiny case of obsession. Alright, borderline stalking. All jokes aside, I knew this couldn't be love. I was definitely sure that couldn't be love, but why did I continue to crave his fleeting look in my direction?

A crush? Yes. Infatuation? Definitely. Love? Um, no. I don't know when I really started to have feelings for this boy, but I know that they lasted longer than I would have liked. I don't know the "when," but I do know why they lasted as long as they did: my feelings thrived off of his glances that seemed to increase by the passing of the day.

I used to catch him walking down the hallways and he would look at me all the while beaming at me in a way that would make my heart melt. I'd smile back, always wondering, "Why do you like to torture me?"

Infatuation is a short lived passion. Something felt temporarily. Despite the strength of infatuation, it's not love. This boy captured my attention, but not my heart. I was entranced, but that wasn't a desirable state of being when I had my own string of admirers (however small that string was).

I realize this must sound like the rant of a pathetic teenager, but the feeling of infatuation is so incredibly strong. It always took me by surprise whenever I caught him looking at me. I couldn't believe someone like him could be interested in me. Him, a soccer star, me... a shy, quiet girl. In spite of the improbability of mutual feelings, I noticed he was always nice to me. I had a class with him. Sociology. When he walked into the room, I wanted to leave. I was anxious of making a fool out of myself. I didn't want him to think I was an idiot.

I didn't think it was possible to like him more than I did before that class, but I did. My infatuation increased exponentially. Now this may seem like a case of unrequieted love, and you're right... it is. To an extent. There's no use denying it; I was temporarily passionate about him. It wasn't love, but it was definitely a clear case of infatuation. As plain as day.

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