There was no hesitation in her action.
One of the few things about her
That pulled me in—
Infatuation.
Not love,
Not destiny,
Just me being interested.
Nothing more.
Maybe,
If I could know her better.
Maybe.
A hard maybe
Without guarantee.
Still, I would listen—
To her voice,
To her complaints,
About trivial things,
About what matters.
I would notice her,
From the smallest gestures
To the absolute ones.
I would see her soul
Spilling through her eyes,
And lose myself
In the same abyss
Reflected back.
By then,
It would no longer be
Mere infatuation.
Perhaps curiosity,
Perhaps something unnamed—
Not quite pathos,
Not quite eros,
But something near,
Something burning
Toward the edge of love.
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