I told my friend
you were pretty.
that you're sweet,
funny,
always noticing shit no one else sees.
I said you'd be a good match for him.
he laughed in my fucking face.
"dude, I wouldn't date her."
I blinked.
"why not?"
"because you're clearly into her."
I laughed.
too loud.
too fast.
that laugh that tastes like fear.
"nah, man. I have a girlfriend."
but he didn't laugh.
he just looked at me and said—
"yeah. and you're obsessed with this one.
you talk about her like she hung the stars.
you know what she reads, what she listens to,
the way she ties her fucking hair."
and I went quiet.
because he wasn't wrong.
you weren't mine.
but fuck,
you lived in my chest.
you haunted every goddamn thing I wrote.
you were in the background of every fight I had with Iris.
and still—
I smiled.
shrugged.
said,
"she's just a friend."
like I didn't memorize the way your eyes moved
when you were holding back tears.
like I didn't jerk off to the sound of your voice
singing with your guitar at 1 a.m.
like I didn't choose to sit closer
just to breathe in your shampoo
and pretend it meant nothing.
I was a fucking coward.
too scared to want you,
too fucked to let you go.
so I played pretend.