You stopped showing up
at our hangouts̶
too "busy,"
too "tired,"
too hers.
But you
still called me at 2 a.m.
still asked if i ate,
still waited outside
in that damn grey hoodie
like i was yours.
And that night,
i was out with the others̶
laughing with dead eyes,
numbing myself with stupid games
and borrowed jokes.
Then
I saw it.
You posted her.
Smiling.
Touching your face
the way i never did.
Claiming what was never mine.
But felt like it shouldʼve been.
I laughed,
out loud.
"fucking finally," i said.
And then
i drank your favorite wine.
Red.
Dry.
Burning.
Like my throat
when i saw her lips
where my silence used to live.
I drank until
my brain forgot your name
and my chest stopped aching̶
just for a while.
You never called that night.
Good.
Because if you did,
I mightʼve said
"Come ruin me again."