I still remember the first time I saw you. Not because you looked different or special—it’s just me, always noticing everything but never voicing it. But sometimes I wonder why I wish I had seen you as someone special from the start.
There was nothing more than a simple morning greeting between us—like noticing a flower blooming on someone’s balcony on your way somewhere. Just a glance, a thought: how beautiful. But never trying to reach for it. That kind of admiration. So how did it reach this point, where I now walk on eggshells around you?
It’s silly.
And maybe… it’s foolish.
Crushing on you—
I don’t even know why, or since when.
Every word I say, every message I type, I pause. Is it too obvious? Will you notice? Do I want you to notice? I rewrite. I overthink.
It’s silly.
It’s delusional.
It’s so, so cute.
We still shared the same kind of small talk,
Maybe more often. You hadn’t changed. Or so I thought.
But I was wrong. You had changed.
Just like that flower—once fresh and vivid, bathed in sunlight—now dry. Still standing. Still beautiful. But tired. Except you’re not a flower. So why did your shine fade?
You still smile, but your exhaustion shows.
You’re still warm, but you shut yourself away more often.
Was I too late to step into your life? Maybe not. Maybe it was just that my feelings weren’t strong enough before. I admired you from a distance, and I was satisfied. So what changed?
What made me talk to you for so long today—something we never did before? Why did you say you wished I had talked to you more?
You were gentle, Warm, Playful, even in your tiredness. And that made me wonder—if I had tried earlier, would you still have your shine?
Could I have helped keep it alive? Could I have been your light? I’ll never know. I can’t revive a wilted flower. But I can remember its beauty.
I wish you had reached out to me. I wish you had let me protect you—from the world that dimmed your light.
But still, you’re not a lost case. You’re not a failure. You are proof that good people still exist—even when the world doesn’t deserve them.
- ইসরাত জাহান ইভাhttps://www.thepapyrus.org/author/%e0%a6%87%e0%a6%b8%e0%a6%b0%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%a4-%e0%a6%9c%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%b9%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%a8-%e0%a6%87%e0%a6%ad%e0%a6%be/
- ইসরাত জাহান ইভাhttps://www.thepapyrus.org/author/%e0%a6%87%e0%a6%b8%e0%a6%b0%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%a4-%e0%a6%9c%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%b9%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%a8-%e0%a6%87%e0%a6%ad%e0%a6%be/
- ইসরাত জাহান ইভাhttps://www.thepapyrus.org/author/%e0%a6%87%e0%a6%b8%e0%a6%b0%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%a4-%e0%a6%9c%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%b9%e0%a6%be%e0%a6%a8-%e0%a6%87%e0%a6%ad%e0%a6%be/
