maybe it was a crush

a letter for Poppy

To Poppy,

It’s not like I didn’t notice you before. Your style had always caught my eye; that navy patterned sweater vest that you wore, hugging the uniform that clings to your skin, has imprinted itself inside my mind.

I’ve questioned myself whether if it’s a fashion statement or simply just your favorite piece of clothing.

It wasn’t unique or anything, and I didn’t really bother to care about it at all. You were simply just another stranger my eyes were familiar with because of your choice of clothes. Just another person I see glimpses of every weekday in my peripheral vision- just another passing soul I don’t long to know.

I guess not yet, not now.

I have a habit of idolizing someone before tearing their spirit open, before violating their minds and walking unwelcome inside the prison of their thoughts. And I’m afraid that your name has already strolled inside my own so carelessly and boldly. I’m afraid that if I get too close, I’d end up disappointing myself with your flaws.

I don’t want to dislike the pieces of you that you also probably loathe.

So I’ll watch you at a distance while my orbs memorize the way you walk and soak in the colour of pants you often put on; peach and baby pink paired with a white shirt and red sneakers, its shoelace tied up to your ankles- another fashion statement of yours?

I hope you didn’t mind me gazing holes at your back when you were around, then looking away once you felt my burning stare. It’s simply my way of trying to pry you open without giving too much of myself away.

But unfortunately, to the great satisfaction of my subconscious, you had begun to hold my eyes frozen. Like a criminal caught red-handed, I felt like I’d snapped my neck more than thrice to fix my attention somewhere else you wouldn’t reach.

When did it ever start? I can’t count the times both our eyes had clashed and ripped themselves away from each other’s grasp.

Or perhaps I was the only one looking at you.

Sometimes I think God is playing with my feelings because yesterday I saw you again when I was waiting for a ride with my friends at around six pm. You were inside the tricycle, and it was getting kind of dark, and I also probably looked ridiculous with the red balloon hanging on my neck as if it was a necklace.

I guess I can excuse that as my very own fashion statement.

My curiosity always gets the better of me, but I try to throw my assumptions off when I see a schoolmate just following behind the ride that you were in. Questions like, “Did you guys plan to go together to the same place?” “why bother getting on different vehicles anyway?” “Are you guys dating?” of course, that’s none of my business, so I’ll push the already cooked conclusion I made seconds after yet again meeting those dark balls covered by lashes and a mist of unknown.

After realizing that it was you who had the orange-colored shirt complimenting fair skin, I would’ve probably sold half of my soul to whatever devil was there just so I could see you smile under that yellow illumination of light from a cheap bulb.

Cheap and you don’t even go well together.


❏

the letter sent into Issi’s mailbox had a cut-out paper heart pasted in front, and a name at the back, scribbled beside a smiling face on the middle of the envelope,

P𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘺 :)
177 𝘙𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘸 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵
M𝘰𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘖𝘙 97361

it says.