The crush is something that happens. It’s the whale in your chest. It’s the mountain on that whales back. It’s the whiskey, and the smiles, and the weird texts that for some fucking reason you’re putting emojis in. You don’t emoji. Why are you emoji-ing?

The crush is the boy with the big beard, and the tattoos and the kinda skew but sweet smile, and the super cute dog. And the boy kisses you and your head spins and your breath becomes wispy, and you’re lost and happy.

The bad bit about the crush? The bad bit about the crush is knowing that it lives up to its name. It crushes you. It destroys you. It takes that head spin, and tilted smile and the wispy breath and it turns it all against you. And then you’re sad.

But does that mean you shouldn’t crush? Because maybe that crush can last. Maybe you can postpone the bad bit for 6 months, or 2 years or, fuck it — let’s be optimistic — 50 years until the crush dies. Is that what makes it worth it? Is that how you win at the crush?

I don’t know. All I know is I’m crushing on a boy, and it’s going to crush me.