Two weeks, were they

I felt stuck in a sea

with failed Mayday.

They started to fade,

the bluest of blue, behind

that ignorance shade.

I never understood at thirteen

what were that butterflies

doing inside, causing a scene.

I never got that taste

again, of the dazzling eyes

the memory turning to waste.

But. Aren't they the biggest word?

When I see him sitting 

in a fresh ironed polo shirt,

My heart skips a beat

and I still don't understand

the slowly creeping heat.

I should have known

that more were yet to come

until my poor heart is blown.

Same town, same school,same class.

More of the dazzling eyes,

shining like iridescent glass.

Maybe he will never know me

I should accept it,as hard 

it sounds to be.

He will be swooned

while I still keep

building my cocoon.

I should forget the

Aurora Borealis,

and the short while fantasy.

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