That’s what I’m telling myself, at least.

So I can ask you things

I wouldn’t normally say out loud—

like whether you realize

what you’re doing,

or if it’s all just accidental.

Because it would be easier

if it were accidental.

Easier to pretend

you didn’t quietly find your way

into places I keep untouched,

didn’t slip past the version of me

that knows how to stay composed,

how to keep things at a distance.

But something about you—

the way you move through my thoughts,

the way you stay there—

feels a little too intentional

to be nothing.

Still, it’s fine.

It’s just a joke.

That’s the beauty of today, isn’t it?

So if I say

you’ve unsettled something in me,

if I say

you’ve made your way in deeper than you should have—

you don’t have to believe me.

I don’t have to believe me.

It’s April first.

And this is just a joke.