Yes, I don’t remember your face perfectly only the blur of something warm, like a half-remembered song I wish I could hum again. Yes, I was silly, never asked your name, in a store that smelled like dust and detergent and quiet shelves that didn’t care we were there. But still— butterflies. The real kind. Wings that fluttered from your glance to my gut. And I swear you felt them too. Our eyes spoke in glances too loud to ignore. The wind kissed your hair, coffee skin caught in flickering light, Acne kissed your face, not something to fix but something that made you real. I was stupid enough to hand over my Instagram ID, not smart enough to ask for yours. But maybe that’s just me. You weren’t some fairy tale. No shiny armor, no prince pose. You were just you. And that was enough to make me smile. No roses bloomed at our feet, but your presence was enough. And yes, I’ve been ridiculous ever since checking my phone, just to see your name pop up.
