You said my name like it meant something,

like it carried weight in your chest—

but now I hear it echo back at me, hollow,

like a room I should’ve never trusted.

I replay the moments,

searching for the fracture—

was it in your smile,

or in the way you never stayed long enough

for truth to settle?

I gave you the quiet parts of me,

the ones I keep locked behind ribs and reason,

and you held them like they were temporary—

like I was.

Funny how betrayal doesn’t shout.

It whispers.

It slips in gently,

disguised as comfort,

until one day you realize

you were the only one being real.

Now everything feels off-balance—

memories tilted,

words soured,

your laughter replaying like a trick

I should’ve seen through.

I’m not angry the way I thought I’d be.

It’s heavier than that.

It’s the kind of hurt that sits in your chest

and refuses to explain itself.

You didn’t just leave—

you rewrote what we were

without telling me the ending.

And the worst part?

I still catch myself missing

someone

who never really existed.