Its as though, there’s this thing.
This jumping up and down,
this butterflies ting.
But you have to keep it a really quiet secret.
Yes, girlfriends are known to whisper about it.
But, before that it is a roaring, bone vibrating silence.
It’s a cacophony, of blood racing, clambering and chasing itself
Through corridors of veins that feigned indifference,
It’s the thing they all write about, the songsters and authors,
Its so human and yet,
To be at the beck and call of the one who triggers all that, in you.
To have a crush, can be crushing too.
This thing, it should be jumping up and down,
It should be cartwheeling, but instead,
It is quiet smiles, across impersonal tables,
Trying to find rationed familiarity…
Treading carefully, where souls, wade in in the dark murky waters of;
“What if, he doesn’t like… me… too?”
Which is masked by surface reflections of blue skies and bright smiles.
Because, we know, he’ll ghost, if “she kills my vibe”
We wear slogans of positive energy,
Cloaked around justifiable anxieties.
And whisper quietly,
About the shouting, inside.