I bet with the fire of a thousand suns that he doesn’t have an idea I’m the one who called him one late afternoon, from high up above the edifice.

I bet with the streak of a thousand falling stars that he doesn’t know I’m the one who shouted his name and whom he looked up to.

I bet with the flash of a thousand cameras that he doesn’t know I’m the one who waved at him and whom he waved back to.

And I will definitely bet with the heap of all the pictures the world has ever captured that he doesn’t have an idea that this sitting-next-to-each-other scenario took a lot of mini heart attacks.

It’s another dimension he can’t see, and I hope he’ll continue to do so… but I also hope he won’t.

~Words by MV Sorima, To the Photographer Who Will Never Choose Me as His Subject

~Photo of me and my crush by Sofia Cassandra Adolfo

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