She is pretty.
Quiet, with a gentle beauty.
About her:
By nature, she is joyfully shy,
which makes her stand out.
When she first caught my eye,
we only shared a passing glance, as I passed by.
Maybe by luck. Maybe by chance.
Now she’s hard to miss,
because every day, In the same place,
Is where she waits.
Alone, until I take notice.
Along the worn pathway.
On Most days I walk by just to say hello,
and skip taking the subways altogether.
The days grow longer, and the season is warm,
I bring with me extra water to give to her.
The rainfall brings a storm
that floods the ground and kills the plants.
I lend her my umbrella so she won’t get soaked.
I catch myself thinking of her often.
She takes up space in the garden of my mind.
Why do I care so much whether she’s safe?
She glows in the sunlight and dances in the rain.
So why then do I worry?
if she is fine being alone?
If she’s not mine, not my own,
then why do I miss her?
One day she may leave and I will see her no more.
Why do I feel sadness? Why is this what I fear?
She’s not someone I hold dear, Is she?
If not, then how can it be
that with every second, minute, and hour,
my love grows into a flower?