I Told ChatGPT About You. (a poem)

(a poem)

I told ChatGPT about you.
Not because I needed advice,
I just wanted to say your name out loud somewhere,
without it meaning too much,
and somehow still meaning everything.

I said you make the world feel different,
not louder,
just clearer.
Like suddenly there’s detail in things I used to overlook:
the way coffee smells at 8 a.m.,
how sunlight hits your shoulder when you laugh,
how silence can be warm when you’re near.

I told it that I like how you look at people,
as if you see the version of them they forgot to protect.
And when you look at me,
I swear it feels like I could be that version too.

I told ChatGPT that being with you
feels nothing like falling.
It’s steadier than that.
It’s waking up slower,
talking softer,
wanting less noise and more honesty.

It asked if you know.
I said probably,
because I never hide it well,
how my voice gets quiet when you’re around,
how I listen differently when it’s you talking.

I told it this isn’t love yet,
but it’s close enough
to make my hands restless.
It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t need a label,
because it already lives between the spaces
where words stop working.

But then I kept typing,
prompt after prompt,
trying to describe what you do to time,
how it slows when you smile,
how it folds when you leave.

ChatGPT said: this sounds like affection.
I said: no, this is real.
You’re not a fantasy.
You’re the proof that beauty can sit quietly beside ordinary
and still feel holy.

I pressed enter again,
watched the cursor blink,
and for a moment it felt like my chest was waiting
for the screen to understand.

Then the words appeared:
you sound like you already love them.

And that’s when I realized,
I do.
Not in theory,
not in metaphor,
but in every quiet prompt
that keeps turning into you.

AN / Jogja, Oktober 2025.