It was 1989. I was twelve, shy and dreamy-eyed, in Primary Six. Luther was fourteen and in Form Two. He had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. We met at Christening classes on Wednesday nights. I watched him from across the room, my heart racing. I was torn between wanting him to notice me and wanting to stay hidden.

It was my best friend who, with a cheeky grin, told him my secret. I was so embarrassed that I wanted to sink through the floor. But that night, everything changed. Luther noticed me and paid attention from then on. We exchanged love letters, filled with clumsy, big-hearted words, and met on small dates behind some buildings; nothing grand, not even kisses. We simply held hands and talked.

But by December of ’89, my father’s job took us to a new town, and just like that, our brief, sweet chapter ended. We didn’t keep in touch because we were too young, and maybe we both knew deep down that first loves are only supposed to last a short time.

Now that I think about it, that experience really changed how I think about love and connection. It wasn’t just about the boy or the letters or the stolen glances. It taught me that love, even in its simplest form, is about seeing and being seen. It’s about feeling, in that fleeting moment, that you matter to someone.

It makes me think of The Wonder Years, an American TV show that was on our local channel at the time. Kevin Arnold’s journey through the awkwardness, joy, and heartbreak of growing up felt so much like my own coming of age. His sweet, tentative relationship with Winnie Cooper; their shy glances, their first kiss, the way they kept circling back to each other through the ups and downs. I understood that kind of love, the sweet young love. Luther and I had our own little universe for a while, much like Kevin and Winnie. We taught each other about hope, tenderness, and letting go, just like they did.

Luther

You had eyes that swallowed me whole—
a storm behind glass,
soft enough to fool me.
Your lips never touched me,
but I felt them anyway,
like rain through a roof crack.

We wrote each other down in crooked lines,
gave ourselves to paper,
to the dark between stars.
For a while, you were a fever I didn’t want to break—
a name I kept folding smaller and smaller,
to hide.

---

Olivia Writes offers printables, templates, and art designed to inspire reflection, healing, and creativity. Visit Olivia’s Atelier, Redbubble, and Teepublic for more.