To the guy I saw in my dreams

 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.

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