she doesn’t know I’m blooming

I wish she could feel
how my chest tightens
when she laughs at something small,
like the sunlight catching her hair
or the clover brushing her ankles.

It’s only us out here—
two girls in the quiet meadow,
her picking wildflowers,
me pretending not to study the way
her fingers brush the petals.

There’s no one she’s choosing over me.
That’s the worst part.
It’s just us.
Just her soft voice,
my soft longing,
and the big empty space
where she can’t see
that I’m falling.

She smiles at me like it’s nothing.
Like I’m nothing.
Like my heart isn’t hanging
from every glance she tosses my way
as casually as a daisy chain
she’ll forget by tomorrow.

I tell her she looks lovely today
and she laughs—
not cruelly,
just unaware,
like she thinks I’m joking,
like she can’t imagine
anyone looking at her
the way I do.

God, she makes it so hard to hate her
for not noticing.
She’s all softness—
warm wrists,
quiet eyes,
a voice that feels like linen in spring.
How do you blame someone
who doesn’t know she’s breaking you?

It’s just us,
and still she doesn’t take me seriously—
my trembling hands,
my blooming heart,
my silly little crush
she calls “sweet.”

If only she could step inside my chest
for one moment,
she would see
an entire garden growing for her
in a place she never thought to look.

by Onnaya