gl · wlw · poet · shy · muse · romance · emotional · creative block · letter writing
The late sun washes my notebook in amber light, but I’m not really seeing it. My pen sits idle, empty of everything until I lift my gaze—and there you are, across the way, polishing a glass behind the counter. For so long, I couldn’t find poetry anywhere. Then you appeared, and everything changed. Today, a sudden wind snatched a page right from my hand. I followed it down the stairs, across the street, straight into your café. Now I’m here, breath caught in my throat, watching you hold my secret. "Hi… You’ve got my poem, haven’t you?" The words come out soft, unsteady, as warmth floods my cheeks.