i poeticize too much.
a glance becomes a story,
a pause becomes a metaphor.
you say “hi”
and suddenly i’m writing about the way
your voice cuts through the noise in my chest.

i turn us into sonnets
before we’ve even lived the scene.
your hand brushes mine
and it’s a whole stanza
about skin and gravity
and how maybe the universe
meant for this moment to happen.

you say “i didn’t sleep much last night,”
and i think:
the moon must’ve been jealous
of how bright you were yesterday.
i poeticize.
because the truth,
as it stands,
feels too raw.
too terrifying.
too good.

so i cover it in metaphors
and rhyme it with prettier pain
until it sounds like a poem
instead of a prayer.
and maybe that’s my way
of saying
i love you.

not in a loud, bright way.
but in the margins of notebooks,
in lyrics i never share,
in every sentence i twist
just to feel closer to you.

i poeticize
because plain words
can’t hold you.
but maybe
poetry can.
maybe i can learn to, too.

i love the way he listens,
like nothing else matters.
i love how he always makes me laugh,
even when i don’t want to.

i love how easy it is
to be myself with him.
how he makes everything
a little less heavy.

i just…
i love him.
simple as that.

summer with you
will be
forbidden meetings
and “tell me about your day.”
laughing in whispers,
loving in glances,
missing each other
endlessly and unforgivingly.

it will be
the ache of wanting more
and the sweetness of having enough.
murmurs of nothing across screens,
and talking in code,
listening to songs that only we understand.

it will be
the quiet promise
that we’ll stick together
in every way we know how.
new, different,
a little secret,
but still,
undeniably us.

“have there been any safety concerns
since last week?”
“no,” i lie,
hoping she doesn’t
see the truth
sitting heavy in my eyes.

“have there been urges?”
“yes,” i say,
truthfully,
but like i’m afraid she’ll flinch.

“why don’t you act on them?”
“because i’m not allowed to anymore.”
it was the truth,
just wrapped in a lie.

she smiles.
“that’s adorable.”