Elevator Boy

When I first met you, it was the kind of unexpected meeting we read about in romantic books. 

It was never about looks. 

It was the way you waltzed into my heart, like you owned the place. 

I wasn’t ready, yet you showed me grace. 

Suddenly, I wasn’t so afraid of the male race. Or maybe just you. 

You were the only exception that I knew.

I introduced you to my diary as Elevator Boy. Our frequent meetings in the elevator brought me joy. My diary entries became colorful with words like “cute”, “smart” and “different.” I couldn’t put my finger on what made you so important. My lack of experience in the matter made it even harder to tame my feelings. You were the main subject in my weekly therapy briefings.

The elevator became more than floors and steel. 

It turned into a capsule of how I feel. 

A simple space of buttons and light 

Became a stage where my soul took flight. 

I began to wait for the sound of its doors sliding open,

Hoping for the chance of seeing you inside 

As if my heart has already been stolen. 

Every ding of the doors brought a rush of chance.

Every glance of yours was a stolen dance. 

Each ride, a coin toss between disappointment and delight. 

I dreamt of you waiting for me in that steel box every night. 

Little did I know you were about to disappear. When my phone lit up with your name, I thought I was going insane. Was I so smitten with you that I was dreaming about you calling me? If only I had known then that you were about to set me free. Not for my benefit, but because you were bound to fade.

The story we started would never be made.

Our honeymoon phase never saw the sun, 

And yet you broke my heart before it had begun.

Change and the unknown are sometimes my biggest fears.

They always manage to bring me to tears. 

Some days, to help with the pain, I blame you. Other days, I thank you.

Some days I curse you for making me cry.

Other days I whisper a desperate “why.”

Thank you for giving me something to look forward to. Thank you for showing me that there are exceptions too.

If only I knew our time would be brief,

Maybe just maybe I would have held on tighter, through joy and grief. After you left, my words grew dark,

My diary became a painful mark.

Words such as “pain” and “fear” filled every line.

“Forgiveness” struggled to intertwine. 

I made a list of things I should have said. A hundred thoughts ran through my head. You were ninety-nine of them, the rest was one, That single thought reminded me that waiting on you was done. Yet still, the echoes of the elevator doors never erased.

Your shadow remains in my memory’s space. 

Lately, the diary entries about you have lessened. I don’t know if it means that you have been forgiven or forgotten. There are still days when I wonder where you are 

And whether you think of me as much as I do. I hope you don’t, because then it would mean you are in pain too. My love for you makes me pray you have moved on. It is fine if I am the only one who gets to think of you from dusk till dawn.

Does love disappear, or does it transform?

I wonder if longing dies or takes on a new form.

Perhaps it softens, perhaps it bends, 

Perhaps it lingers though the chapter ends. 

The elevator doors closed on us fast,

And today I stand, even though our love couldn’t last. 

Maybe your purpose was not to stay,

But to teach me love in a perfect way.

To show me that courage lives in the heart,

If it dares to open, it faces the risk of falling apart.

Your gaze through those doors showed my heart a dance,

Two souls giving each other a chance. 

Your role was brief, but your impact was deep.

Your voice wishing me good night is a secret I’ll keep. 

So, I write of you still, in rhythm and rhyme, Not to trap you in pages, but to honor the time.

 For words are my keepsake, gentle and true, The only souvenir I have of you. And though the doors have long since closed, And though the story was never composed, Sometimes in dreams, the elevator will ring, And I’ll remember the joy a boy once could bring.