The Girl with the Almond Eyes

The Girl with the Almond Eyes

A Love Unnamed, A Memory Unfaded
There are certain people who walk into the corridors of our childhood and, without ever meaning to, leave behind echoes that last a lifetime. She was one such chapter—unwritten but unforgettable. A girl I never knew by name, yet whose presence lingers like a fragrance in the folds of memory. Her eyes—almond-shaped, warm and unknowable—became the first verses of my romantic awakening.

Verses from a Forgotten Hallway

In the orchard of youth where the breeze was light,
She walked like a whisper through corridors bright.
A year ahead in life’s small race,
Yet always near, with a half-lit face.

Eyes that held twilight’s deepest hue,
Soft as prayer, and honest as dew.
Not love, not quite—just a silent crush,
A moment wrapped in a youthful hush.

Her voice—a stream through summer stone,
Wore uniforms like verses sewn.
And when she laughed, the world would pause,
Time would bend without a cause.

Gifts exchanged—no words, no claim,
As if the soul had signed her name.
A ribbon, a pen, or a chocolate square—
Each gift spoke what lips wouldn’t dare.

The Shift of Cities, The Drift of Days

One day, like seasons that leave without goodbyes,
My school changed, under stranger skies.
New walls, new faces, but something missed—
That fleeting touch, that childish tryst.

I searched her shadow in many a crowd,
In every face, under every cloud.
But names are weightless when hearts just feel,
And memories often the only seal.

Her eyes, I dream, still find my face,
In libraries of time and space.
What might have been, what never was—
Yet life moves on, without a pause.

The Philosophy of a Crush

They say the first crush is not about the other,
But what awakens in you like a long-lost brother.
It’s not about knowing, holding, or naming,
But sensing a world within quietly flaming.

Crushes are gardens where longing grows,
Without the burden of ‘why’—just ‘because’.
They’re more about wonder than destination,
More heartbeats than conversation.

She—my muse with almond eyes—
Taught me how memory never truly dies.
Though nameless, her impression stays,
Lighting the dusk of forgotten days.

The Gaze That Stayed

I do not know the path she treads,
Nor if her voice still softly spreads.
But every dusk, when silence sighs,
I see again those almond eyes.

Not love, not loss, just something true,
A shade of joy in memory’s hue.
No map, no letter, no last goodbyes—
Just a girl, and her almond eyes!