The Girl Who Lives Upstairs

It's a love poem.

The girl who lives upstairs has caught my attention.

She occupies the second floor of a three-storey building.

Though my heart beats fast when I pass her home,

I still walk on the avenue so I can see this teenage lulu.

 

A few days ago, she went for a stroll down the road.

I ran into her on my way from a nearby bus stop.

She politely told me good evening and blushed.

I returned her greeting with a pleasant tone of voice.

 

I wanted to stop her and tell her romantic things,

But I couldn’t start such a conversation with her.

Shyness prevented me from saying anything else.

I looked back at her as she slowly went on her way.

 

I immediately sensed the loneliness in her heart.

And it touched me deeply because I felt lonely too.

I should’ve told her that she’s a very attractive girl,

But I let that beauty walk away and did nothing.

 

Now she’s sitting on a lounge chair reading a textbook.

She sees me coming as I approach the corner.

I can’t stop my eyes from glancing at the balcony.

And I wish she’d say something that I want to hear.

 

I gaze at her lustfully as I did on previous occasions.

She looks at me seductively and gives me the eye.

I quickly raise my hand and greet her with a smile.

She waves her palm and shows me her pearly teeth.

 

The soft aestival breeze is blowing through her hair.

I’d like to stand in front of her on the stairway

And look in her brown eyes and tell her I love her.

But it’s wishful thinking because I don’t know her name.

 

The girl who lives upstairs doesn’t know my feelings for her.

She laughs when she speaks to the man at the fence.

He’s trying to seduce her, and it makes me jealous.

So the next time I see her, I’ll say what’s on my mind.

Author's Note

Enjoy the reading, ladies.