Wool Hats
She walks like she owns the streets that have never seen footprints before hair messy in a way that seems deliberate a scarf wrapped around her neck like it had a story no one else can read
She drinks coffee black scribbles in journals no one will ever see listens to vinyl records while the world blares digital noise her laughter spills into corners of rooms where light barely reaches and I can’t help leaning closer to catch the echo
She doesn’t chase approval she doesn’t ask for understanding she moves through the world as if she’s already figured it out even when she’s just figuring it out herself
I fall in pieces, quietly tracing her shadows on the wall of cafes memorizing the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking the way she hums along to songs I’ve never heard
And somewhere between the thrift shops the bookstores the streets painted with murals I realize I’m not just watching her I’m orbiting her caught in her gravity hoping she’ll notice that I’ve fallen, too
