I am falling in love
not into him, nor with anyone else.

But with how he can hide
your meanings
in a couple of left-aligned words.

But with his thoughts, his ideas
written on paper
in his awful hand-writing.

But with the songs he made me listen to,
they didn’t hurt my ears,
something else was hurt.

But with how he say my name,
like it’s his.
(Why does he do that? How?)

And to all his art,
especially the written ones.
His words can open doors to worlds
I didn’t know existed.

But I am not in love. I may be
falling for him.