The first crush she had
was unluckily me.

From beyond the specs
her eyes were sad
yet silently pleading
someone found them sweet too.

Braving all her shyness
she penned me three sentences
jotted with immature hands
dipped in the fountain of romance:

How are you. I'm fine. Love you.

That night I took them to the streetlight
and read like a whole long story.

I never replied.

I only wished
she read it right
at the turn of page.