Do I like you?
I think you grew on me.
It’s like how you don’t notice
when summer quietly becomes fall,
until one morning,
the air feels different.
I used to think liking someone
was butterflies last summer:
being flustered just having him by my side,
a heart that beat a little too fast
for someone who never really became mine.
He became a memory
I kept playing back.
I thought maybe
that’s what liking someone
was supposed to feel like.
Instead, this summer,
you and I became friends.
Two people
who happened to stay
a little later at the office
than everyone else.
There was always something left to do,
and somehow,
it was always easy
being with you.
Another meeting.
Another chess match.
Another conversation.
Another reason
to stay a little longer.
One night,
I asked if you’d walk me home.
Then another.
And somehow,
without either of us
ever talking about it,
it became a habit.
Somewhere along the way,
my backpack
wasn’t on my shoulders anymore.
It was on yours.
I don’t remember
when that started.
Just like I don’t remember
when I started hoping
it would be
just me and you.
I don’t think
I ever woke up one day
and decided I liked you.
I think
we just kept walking
beside each other,
day after day,
until one day,
I looked over
and realized
I already did.