Dear You

Dear You

I want to say I'm in love with you.

I don't even know you.

I mean, I know you. I know your smile, your laugh.

I know the songs that make you dance.

I know spiders make you dance too, but not in the same way.

You're smart. You hate math. Numbers are your nemesis.

I can't count the times you've told me that.

You're funny. And not just because you make me laugh.

At the littlest things.

You certainly make me smile. My cheeks ache sometimes.

You're shy but courageous.

Kind-hearted and oddly stubborn about the stupidest things.

It doesn't matter how many times you say it;

mustard and French fries are not the greatest thing in the universe.

But you are so adamant. It's endearing.

I know you but you are so much the mystery.

I don't know when it happened,

this fall, this unconscious tumble.

There was no big splash, no commotion.

It was quiet, but every little thing is another silent exclamation.

Like when you read to me, sometimes I can barely hear the words.

You're my heart's distraction.

See, you have the most amazing Cupid's bow.

This is where I'd laugh because you would gawk at me,

those expressive eyebrows all wonky and ask:

Cupid's bow? I can hear you ask and when I respond:

it's the shape of your upper lip,

you'd unconsciously reach up and run your fingers across it.

And that little gesture is all it takes.

I think I've always loved you.

Just in different ways.

When we were younger, you were like my brother.

You watched out for me, protected me, fought for me.

As you like to say, standing in your Superman pose,

"I'm a fighter, not a lover."

As we grew older, you became my best friend;

which is a love like no other.

I guess this fall is just a simple progression.

Or...

...maybe

I've always been in love with you.