Taylor

in moments like these.

Not in grand declarations,

or fireworks,

or the stories people tell later

but in the sight of you

standing at a stove,

singing to yourself,

completely unaware

that you’re stealing my breath away.

You stir a spoon through a pot,

hum a song under your breath,

and somehow the whole world softens.

And there I am,

hundreds of miles away,

wishing the distance would fold in on itself

just long enough

for me to walk into the kitchen,

wrap my arms around your waist,

and rest my chin on your shoulder.

Not to interrupt.

Not to be noticed.

Just to be there.

To smile when you smile.

To sway when you sing.

To exist in the warmth of a room

that already feels like home

because you’re in it.

Maybe that’s what keeps happening to me.

I keep falling for you

in the ordinary moments.

The moments where you’re not trying to be beautiful,

yet somehow you are.

The moments where you’re simply being yourself,

and I find myself loving you more than I did

the moment before.

So you keep cooking.

Keep singing.

And I’ll keep sitting here,

completely hopeless,