the email's half-written.
my desk's a mess of deadlines and deadlines and—
then it plays.
that song.
that fucking song.
🎵 "well I've moved on..." 🎵
my hands freeze mid-typing.
cursor blinking like a heartbeat.
like yours,
when you used to sleep with your head on my shoulder,
black hoodie drowning your frame,
guitar pick still tucked in your fingers.
you used to say,
"wake up, idiot. the world doesn't wait for cowards."
but I didn't wake up, Hazel.
I just watched you leave in slow motion.
now this song plays like a joke the universe never got tired of.
I remember everything—
you, barefoot with your guitar,
screaming lyrics like they were war declarations.
you, laughing while bossing me around like you owned the air I breathed.
you, in black, always in black—
like you were preparing for the funeral of us
before we even began.
and I—
I never had you.
not fully.
not out loud.
not in the way you needed me to.
you were the girl I was dreaming of
while kissing someone else's reality.
now you're someone else's reality.
and I'm here,
frozen at 2:36 PM
by a fucking song
I thought I deleted.