I had my head in the clouds.

My happiness was noticeable as I spoke out loud.

I hadn’t told anyone in particular.

My friends knew his name, oh my family had met him.

We had connections, like shoe-laces with loose ends.

Anyone who knew my feelings was nowhere near his ear.

My mother would have called it cowardness.

My sibling would have called it a phase, oh my friends called it love.

And I called it restlessness.

I couldn’t express my true feelings to the man.

It wasn’t the butterflies in my stomach, oh,

Or some sudden chills of happiness.

It wasn’t the sweaty palms of holding something hot, oh,

Or a rush of blush of madness.

It was the way I lost control and at the same time grew strong.

Anything that felt right was now wrong.

Everything was vice versa.

He became not a person but a study.

He became a puzzle, maze, a moment of inertia.

And the way he made me smile, oh the consistency.

And the way he made me cry, oh the agony.

And the way I felt idiotic, oh the irony.

Because it was all how he made me laugh,

that made it all worth it.