I knew it.
From the first glance,
like a secret already waiting
beneath my skin,
a truth unspoken.
I knew it.
The moment your devilish eyes
caught mine,
pulling me under
with no promise of return.
I knew it then.
When your smile unfurled –
reckless and dangerous,
yet softer than morning light
on a sleepless soul.
I already knew,
the second you called me your muse,
your voice binding me,
tying ribbons around a heart
that never asked to be claimed.
It was clear,
when our words wove together,
poem after poem,
as if language itself
had conspired to bring us closer.
Even then, I knew.
When your fingers found mine,
and the silence between us
turned holy,
as if even the air
was holding its breath.
The truth crashed into me
at our first kiss.
I dared you to kiss me,
and you didn’t hesitate.
Under the stars,
you struck me like lightning –
an apocalypse disguised as love,
and I burned.
I felt it,
when I wrote you love letters,
burning with each word,
and you devoured them
like a man starved of tenderness.
The certainty returned,
when your lips brushed my forehead
like a blessing you didn’t believe in;
when you kissed my nose
again and again,
as if mapping a country
you intended to leave.
I knew it.
Since that first day,
I knew we were too good to be true.
And yet,
knowing never stopped me
from believing.
