Maybe I read too far,
too much into things
when I put malice to
every time you held doors for me,
when I searched for
a shade of meaning
every time you were
throwing sweets my way

Maybe I read too far,
too much into every time
you stroke my hair,
rang me up to remind me
not to skip a meal,
asked me how my day went,
and texted me good mornings,
good nights with
heart emojis

Maybe I read too far,
too much into things
by taking your actions figuratively
and your plain messages
as secretly coded ones

Maybe I read too far,
too much into things
by deciphering everything
as your low-key
profession of feelings

Maybe I read too far,
too much into things
when I brought out
that Veronica Mars in me
by trying to unearth hidden clues
that were not even
existing in the first place
and I had taken cues
from things
that were unwritten
and unsaid

Maybe I read too far,
too much into things
when they meant nothing at all

Maybe I read them wrong.
Maybe I read you wrong.

Maybe you were on the last page
and I was on the first.

—Nina Ricci

Photo: Molika R. Pangantihon