She doesn’t know, but, sometimes,

when you look within me,

trying to find my rhythm,

searching for my rhyme,

I smile.

She doesn’t truly care, but I,

when you write your comment,

calling me “beautiful”,

my words are floating,

towards YOU.

She doesn’t even imagine, me-

-published and set free, for you,

I modify little words that wrap

your lonely, secret thoughts

in warmth.

She doesn’t know, but, sometimes,

I dream to kiss your sleepy eyes,

so that, when you read me,

you’d fall too, deeply in love

with me.