You were a minor infatuation—
a stupid crush by the book.

Someone I liked simply for looks.

Your name was James
or maybe John.

Though it doesn’t matter now that I moved on.

I didn’t know how you took your coffee
or your favorite color.

But I did know you had eyes like no other.

I don’t remember what music you listened to
or if you listened at all.

But your dark brown hair I can easily recall.

While at the thought of you
I still gush.

I don’t really think of you that much.

You were my minor infatuation—
my stupid crush.

And that is all you’ll ever be.