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Before the swipe, before the text,
when hearts were exchanged in folded notes,
love thrived in mixtapes and dial tones,
in letters infused with perfume and patience.
We met at bus stops,
or beneath neon skies near corner shops,
where boom boxes played our favorite tunes,
and the world felt fresh, yet quietly familiar.
You wore denim like a love language,
and I, awkward in flannel and nervous charm,
waited by payphones, hoping you’d call.
We synced our hearts with cassette clicks,
rewinding moments we wished would last.
Back then, love was slower,
not lazy, but intentional,
we chased each other through
Saturday morning cartoons
and Sunday walks beneath mango trees.
We made promises in our journals,
wrote our names in the margins of schoolbooks,
carved initials on the bark of time,
believing forever was just a mixtape away.
Your laughter was a tune
part Aaliyah, part Boyz II Men,
and my heartbeat, a remix of nerves
every time you glanced my way.
We danced under stars
without hashtags, without filters.
Just us,
and the raw truth of being seen.
We had no DMs to slide into,
but we had rooftops, radio dedications,
and love letters passed through trusted friends
each one a secret treasure
wrapped in teenage hope.
Arguments meant days of silence,
not blue ticks or status games.
And apologies?
They came with chocolate and mixtapes,
not emojis or voice notes.
We didn't need Wi-Fi to connect
just the rhythm of shared laughter,
and the warmth of holding hands
on walks home from school.
Our love didn’t trend.
It lived in Polaroids tucked into shoeboxes,
in CDs we borrowed and never returned,
in long calls until midnight
when the line crackled but our voices stayed soft.
There were no selfies,
just stolen glances in the classroom,
or lingering goodbyes at the gate,
where every “see you tomorrow”
meant something real.
Even in heartbreak,
the 90’s held us gently—
teaching us that to feel deeply
wasn’t weakness,
but a kind of bravery
we didn’t know we had.
Now, the world moves faster,
but sometimes, I rewind in my mind,
and there you are—
smiling with Walkman dreams,
our fingers laced in the quiet hum
of a decade that knew
how to love slowly,
truly, and
boldly.
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