the sky was so fucking clear,
even the stars looked sober.
I wasn't looking for anything.
not a conversation.
not a feeling.
and definitely not you.
but you were there—
a stranger with cigarette-stained fingers
and a laugh louder than the night.
marlboro gold between your lips,
like rebellion tasted sweet
on someone like you.
your name fell out from someone else's mouth.
Hazel.
a name too soft for your kind of fire.
we didn't even introduce ourselves.
just ended up talking—
about the music you played,
the stages you loved,
the way the crowd made you feel alive.
and me?
I just nodded.
told you I didn't like performing.
didn't even play anything.
didn't write. didn't sing.
I just listened.
that's all I've ever been good at—
listening,
watching,
feeling things I'll never say.
you didn't mind.
you talked like you had oceans inside your throat,
and I just let myself drown.
we didn't flirt.
we didn't ask each other out.
but you smiled when I asked what kind of strings you used.
and you laughed when I said I hated vodka.
you said, "you just haven't had it with the right playlist yet."
I should've known,
I was already losing.
that night,
beneath a sky that had too much hope,
I met a girl in black
who loved loud music, bitter drinks, and quiet boys.
and I've been haunted
ever since.