Yesterday, I saw you without you seeing me.
Felt something, as much as who I am still allows me to see, in you, for I know you don’t see me.
I do it for me, forever, and so that I may always know who you are, unconsciously.
You ignore it, my gaze. See me but of myself you know so very little, little of what I see, little of yourself.
And so you’ll find me from now on whenever I avoid looking at you, carefree, because what worries me is now the nothing you gave me each time you didn’t see me when I saw you.