The funny thing about liking someone in secret is you find the thrill in stolen glimpses, illicit stares, and strange desire to hide all of the butterflies in front of them.
You love the idea of looking at them from a far, you percieve their words as some sort of language you've first heard, and every clashing of bodies due to accidents is more of a miracle than absurdity.
I know it all for I like someone but liking this person is too less for a need and too much for a want. I love the idea of our fingers intertwining like serpents on a Greek god's stick yet I despise the space being sacrificed for that person's existence being closer to mine. I love the idea of talking of the mundane yet I am fearing for the absurdity of my language. I like this person so much that I ended up wounded even the real fight has not begun.
That's why I fit myself to an empty corner, looking at you – a hundred feet apart. I find contentment as I touch the screen as if touching your face would be easy. I am dying to know how it feels like to be known by somebody – a star of some sort, but I'm living in fear of what may happen next.
Maybe, I'll tell you these things when I know the time is right – even though I have no idea of when it will be. Maybe in my wildest dreams.
YOU ARE READING
blue valentine
PoetryThis is for the love I have found in between clouds of smoke, behind bathroom doors, and every waking at midnight hour - blue valentine. (2023)
