I wasn't looking.
not for fireworks.
not for soft smiles wrapped in cigarette smoke.
not for girls who played guitar
and quoted Elliott Smith.
but you asked me if I liked spicy food.
and I said no.
I said I liked sweet things.
you smiled.
"like your perfume. smells like vanilla and chocolate."
fuck.
you noticed.
no one ever said that before.
not even the girl I was dating.
and there was this quiet moment—
not romantic, not loud,
just heavy.
just real.
we talked about food.
you said you liked everything.
didn't care where you ate,
as long as it was warm
and didn't taste like sadness.
I laughed.
god, you always made me laugh.
and I said,
"I'll take you to my favorite ramen place someday."
I shouldn't have.
but I wanted to.
I meant it.
that wasn't a date.
that wasn't a promise.
but it felt more honest
than anything I ever said to my Iris.