Read
You read me like a book.
Am I really that obvious?
Do you really notice
how I blush, even in the dark,
when your hand touches my leg?
And your fingers, when they trace over mine,
do they feel the bitten cuticles
where all my worries go to rest?
Do you notice how I get jealous,
how I get angry over petty things?
Do you notice when I’m online
and you’re sitting on the other end of the computer screen,
ignoring me?
Do you read me at all?
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