I knew it from the start, saw your eyes looking in mine.
I think of you.
I wonder,
what is on your mind
when you think of me?
You must be thinking,
I do not know about this whole thing.
And you think of me as that type of girl
who does not care at all,
but it is the exact opposite—
I even write diary entries about you.
I think this is going to end,
without me knowing directly from you
that you liked me,
and without you having a clue I knew about this—
since the very first day-one.
I still wait for your eyes on me.
How cool,
you imagine me in the songs you listen to.
You know,
I care,
and I notice almost everything—
even if I would not have to care.
I am glad if you made me your inspiration;
you might think that I am so obtuse,
to not notice your signs,
hints
and signals.
But I notice all of it—
from the very first day-one.
You think it is strange I never knew,
but I have known since the very first day-one.
You think I did not care,
but I did.
You think I did not understand,
but even if you did not say it,
our eye contact could tell it.
. . . our eye contact since the very first day-one.
