between the verse

Sometimes, I’d catch myself memorizing things I shouldn’t; the slope of your shoulders when you lean forward, the half-smile you give before speaking. I never write you down, but somehow you end up on every page. I say it’s noticing, yet every detail hums with the weight of unspoken longing. It’s wanting, tucked into the pauses and quiet gaps only I feel. It’s you, everywhere, in sentences I’ll never let you read. And maybe one day you’ll stand too close, and I’ll forget to hide it, the way my eyes stay a beat too long, the way my breath falters mid-thought. Until then, I’ll keep folding you into metaphors, tucking you between commas, hoping you never realize how much of my writing is just me, reaching for you in every quiet way I can.