"i don't know what life looks like without you."
i said it.
out loud.
just like that.
like it wasn't loaded with
five fucking years of silence.
you froze.
your lips parted
like you were about to say something—
but i panicked.
i laughed.
shrugged.
told some joke
about missing your terrible playlists
or the way you made coffee that tasted like regret.
you smiled,
but not the kind that reached your eyes.
and i fucking knew
you felt it too.
i fucking knew
you heard the truth
behind my stupid cover-up.
but i ruined it.
like i ruin everything.
i gave you the one sentence
i've been dying to say
and dressed it up
like it didn't mean shit.
i told you
i don't know what life looks like without you.
and then i acted
like i do.
but i don't.
i fucking don't.
and maybe that's why
every version of my life
without you in it—
feels like it's missing
its goddamn oxygen.