I swear I am Not

I'm not in love with you.
It's just that every time I hear your voice, something inside my chest outruns the world. I look at your pictures. Zoom in. Zoom out. Your tired eyes. Zoom in again.
An hour long stare or a cursory glance, it's enough to make me blush for the rest of the day. Blush deep.
...

You tell me you're going outside and that you'll be back in a while. I imagine if you're wearing that skyblue checkered Top, the one that if I got the chance to, I'd tell you is my favorite of all your Tops. I imagine if you walk with brisk steps, one hand in pocket, as you always do.
And I can't help imagining the way your face must look or the way you must shelter your eyes with your hand against the sweltering heat. And I need to stop smiling.
Everytime my phone lights up with a notification that has your name, something inside of me that blooms like a wild flower. I've never liked my voice, except for the times that I say your name, out loud or to myself in the middle of the night. Like it's the charm that keeps me safe. And warm. And happy. And it's funny how the last thing on my mind before I drift to sleep at night, is the sound of your voice when you said my name for the first time.
But I'm not in love with you. Cross my fingers. I swear I'm not.