Dear you,

I know I was awkward the first time we met. I am still awkward.
Every time I see you I can’t think of anything to say.
I plan ahead. I daydream about what I could say to you, but dreams can’t be copied perfectly like HTML or codes.

With so many people around, I am muted.
You look through me and in those thick rimmed glasses, I see myself reflected, faded.

But to me you are always tangible.
So tangible. Yet I can never seem to reach you.

I promise I don’t try, but I see it. You look at others differently.

Is it strange that maybe just from time to time I want your sleepy eyes to only look at me?

ps. I love what you have done with your appearance, your cardigans and button ups, your cute shoes and short, fluffy black hair, but you have always been attractive to me. When I told you my roommate thinks you are cute, what I really meant to say was I think you are cute.



4 thoughts on “Dear you,

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