I pass you on campus near daily, yet now I see you differently.
Once a cute girl I briefly met, now a crush; your sweet face enthralls me.
She hasn’t a clue that I have feelings since we hardly ever speak,
But I see her enough that we could talk; perhaps a few times a week.

The Radio Girl, I sometimes call her; she has a show here on campus.
I’ve not heard it; boy, I want to; her music taste seems just like mine does.
I heard a ton from Instagram; her highlight reels hold fragments.
Her taste in fashion’s killer, too, all her flannels, Docs, and flared pants.

Tempted to find the our chemical potential, I do math and schemes for days.
Conscience says: “I shall do my research and watch from afar to get to know her ways.”
But wait, conscience, that’s kinda weird, and this fact I’m well aware of.
I just… worry I’m too lame to talk to her, or my autism might be a scare-off.

Radio Girl, I hope to pass you again on campus; my grins to you will beam bigger.
I may make myself available and muster up a social vigor.
I can compliment you, mention your show; doesn’t matter what we talk about,
‘Cause this won’t mean a relationship; as time passes, I must actually ask you out.