She doesn't even know

She Doesn’t Even Know

I first saw her beneath the buzz of an auditorium light,
a thousand faces blurred — but somehow, she stood bright.
Spotlight in the room, laughter in her stance.
and something in me whispered, take the chance.

We talked that day, the world forgot to spin,
her honey-mustard eyes pulling galaxies in.
Days blurred, but her smile stayed the same,
soft, untamed — like a song without a name.

Then silence came wrapped in a small mistake,
words unsent, hearts left half-awake.
She thought I’d gone, but I was just lost between scenes,
of what we were, and what it all means.

She doesn’t even know she’s poetry,
written in my mind between half-asleep dreams.
And now, I just hope she’ll let me stay awhile,
to talk, to listen, to live inside her smile.