[Redacted]

I’ll put on some music and write about you. Maybe. If I can get my hand to move across the page.

Fun fact: you’re the first person I’m doing this for. I have pages and pages of poetry dedicated to people (don’t think you’re not included,) but I have yet to write like this with nowhere to put it.

It’s been over a month of me feeling this way. I keep a list of all the people I’ve ever had a crush on, and adding your name felt more right that it has in a while. Unfortunately, you’re also probably the most problematic crush I’ve had. And I’ve liked a boy that was gay.

Your age doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. It’d probably feel worse on your end than mine, but I quite honestly don’t mind, so if there’s any version of this crazy universe in which you like me, you shouldn’t pay it any mind either. More importantly, we work together, but if there’s any version of this crazy universe in which you like me, then we can talk it through. I’m sure we can agree on something that works.

You’re filled with so much knowledge, and somehow it’s all stuff I’m interested in, but haven’t dug deep enough to learn myself. You’re brimming with ancient civilizations and theories and facts about the earth and those who could’ve wandered it hundreds of thousands of years ago. You’re smart enough to get computers to think you’re cheating at chess. Your dry sense of humor compliments mine, and I see myself mirrored in the ways we awkwardly cover our tracks when wrong-footed. You make me laugh. My friends call you “adorkable.” I miss being around you when I’m gone, and a feeling of calmness blankets over me when I see you again.

You do silly stuff that makes me smile, like when I was crouching down to dig my keys out of my sweatshirt and you crouched down next to me so I could hear the customer on the phone. Like when I couldn’t read something on the wall across from us, so you pressed your side against mine and leaned your face in close to see if you were having the same problem. An echo of another boy falling to his knees upon me entering a classroom as a callback to a performance.

I love the way your voice drops and the kindness it takes on when you share something only meant for me. The way you hold eye contact with me when answering someone else’s question. The shine of your eyes when you smile. The sadness in them when I mentioned the possibility of me leaving earlier than expected. Your attentiveness and excitement for the things I tell you. The way you said you’d read my work even if it was 11 pages of the smallest font you’ve ever seen.

My biggest fear is that I’m reading too much into the small moments. Even if they weren’t symbolic of reciprocity, I hope they at least hint to some sort of preference. But everyone acknowledges how kind and hilarious you are. As they should. But does this mean I’m not experiencing anything special?

Even if the answer is a no, a part of me hopes that you can at least recognize that there’s something special in the way I act towards you. I try to hide it at work, but my closest friends can tell that I’m flirting my heart out from a mile away. I think there’s something nice and pure in knowing that someone feels affectionately towards you.