brisk raven
I’m Not in Love with You
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way your laugh feels like sunrise,
Or how your voice turns silence into music,
Settling into my chest, a quiet hum I never want to lose.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way you wear kindness like a second skin,
Or how your touch lingers in the air long after you’ve gone.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way your eyes hold galaxies,
Or how your dreams echo my own secret desires.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way you light up when you talk about the things you love,
Or how you remind me what it means to be fully alive.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way you fit so seamlessly into the chaos of my mind,
Or how you leave me breathless with your quiet strength.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way you make me believe in the impossible,
Or how you’ve become the rhythm to which my heart beats.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way your laugh feels like the first breath of spring,
Or how your presence turns the ordinary into sacred ground.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way your fingertips trace constellations on my skin,
Or how your absence feels like forgetting how to breathe.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way you read my thoughts like a well-worn page,
Or how your flaws feel like secrets I was meant to keep.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way you catch sunlight in your hair,
Or how your gaze makes me feel seen for the very first time.
I’m not in love with you.
It’s not the way your voice feels like home,
Or how your laughter lingers in the corners of my mind.
I’m not in love with you.
I tell myself this every day,
But some truths are too heavy to hold.
I’m not in love with you—
But if I were—
Oh, if I were—
Wouldn’t it feel just like this?
I am not in love with you,
Not with the curve of your smile
That rises like the first light of morning,
Nor with the way your voice
Settles into my chest,
A quiet hum I never want to lose.
I do not think of your hands
As they move, certain and steady,
Or how they feel brushing against mine—
A thought that isn’t mine to hold any longer.
I do not dream of your laugh
Echoing in rooms where I am alone,
Filling the empty spaces I swore
Needed no filling.
I am not captivated
By the tilt of your head when you’re lost
In thought, or the way your silence
Feels louder than the noise around us.
I do not trace the shadows
Of your presence,
Wondering if they’d linger
If I reached out.
No, I am not in love with you.
I am not consumed by the colors
You bring to my grayscale world,
Nor the warmth that sneaks into my soul
When you’re near, like sunlight
Through cracked blinds.
I have not built cathedrals
In the spaces where you’ve stood,
Nor whispered prayers to the ghost
Of your absence,
Longing for a closeness
That is not mine to crave.
I am not in love with you.
But if I were—
Oh, if I were—
I would never admit it.
late geyser