“Can you pass me that water?” Yeah, the one right behind you. Damn. Thank you.

Tour been a blur. Six months deep in this shit—city to city, stage to stage, mic to mouth. Same set, same scream, same praise. Crowds look like oceans. Floods of people tryna get baptized by the sound. And every time I look back… there you are.

You.

Ain’t even know how to explain it. You not just some body movin’ on beat. It’s somethin’ else. Somethin’ in how you exist up there. You floatin’. You feel it, I know you do. I watch you when I’m not supposed to be watchin’. Every rehearsal. Every fuckin’ run-through. You never miss. That’s your job. But I been sittin’ in on y’all rehearsals that don’t even got shit to do with me. Just to see you.

And that’s not me.

I don’t chase nobody. Never been the type. I don’t flirt, I don’t play games, I don’t even date. I’m either with my family or with the mic. Music, my mama, my little siblings. Dave know what it is. That’s the circle. That’s the mission. But now I’m out here askin’ dancers for fuckin’ water bottles. Like I’m tryna make up reasons to speak to you. Like I’m not Kendrick fuckin’ Lamar and don’t got a million people in my ear already. But none of ‘em sound like you. None of ‘em feel like this.

“You did something with your hair?” Yeah. I see it. You hand me the water and I gotta tilt my head like I’m studyin’ a galaxy. Shit.

Fuck me. Literally.

But no—for real—what the fuck are you doin’ to me? I don’t catch feelings. I catch rhythms. I catch verses. I catch God sometimes. But this?

You?

You somethin’ else. And now I’m just sittin’ here with a bottle of water in my hand, tryna figure out when the hell this became a thing.

God damn.

And I don’t even know if you like me like that. Do you? If I say something smooth would you entertain me? Fuck.

Dave gon clown me.