Gold Rush

So, there's this person...

They're one of those people that everyone wants to be friends with but no one really knows. A mirrorball, if anything–someone a slowly breaking hopeless romantic like me would want to scoop up and carry away to a secluded peaceful forest in the middle of nowhere–they're the grumpy x sunshine everyone wants but has to pretend they don't want because a romantic relationship feels just out of reach.

And it's got me thinking about the difference between puppy love and teenage love. I'm still a teenager, and in all my infinite wisdom and personal bias, I feel that I have to defend the modern high-school-crush experience.

Hear me out: puppy love is what happens when a young person has a crush and will consequently be the biggest simp on the planet. Buying flowers and chocolates every day, carrying backpacks and warming up coffee and finishing a week's worth of homework for a crush; that's puppy love. It is prevalent in most middle schools and junior highs, and yes, we can justifiably observe the phenomenon and shake our heads with wistful little smiles.

But teenage love?

In this day and age, doesn't it deserve to be called something different?

I think teenage love is beautiful, you see. It's the precursor to the young love of the second decade of a lifetime. Teenage love is the term for a person knowing they would make their crush their whole universe while also realizing what a stupid thing that is to do, especially around finals season. Teenage love is fingertips on polyester sleeves and a meticulously chosen heart emoji at the top of the recently used, all while knowing it will end. There's no such thing as a happily-ever-after when it comes to teenage love, only a bittersweet understanding that you've got to live while you're young and let the memories keep you warm later. Teenage love is short and desperate and, at its essence, star-crossed.

It really is a quintessentially important precursor to the lives we build after high school. It's a gold rush, it's "gold rush" by Taylor Swift, it's a fantasy and reality and some kind of fever dream and day-old tea all at once.

At least, that's what I am determined to keep telling myself the longer my own infatuation drags on. Maybe instead of defending teenage love, I should have written about how to overcome it–but I think that's the beauty of the experience, honestly, the fact that it has to be seen through so that it will make a good memory someday.

That's all anything is really good for, isn't it? (Or will I feel differently once the gold rush has died down?)