I used to wonder what it would take for you to really see me.
Not just a smile when we passed each other, or the way you'd throw your arm around my shoulder when you were in a good mood.
I mean, see me like I was something more than just... convenient.
Like if I was a book you kept rereading, not because you loved it, but because something about it felt unfinished.
Like if I was a street you walked every day, even though it never quite led you home.
I would've been fine being a detour as long as you didn't forget the way I made you feel.
I was never good at hiding it.
The way I stayed after everyone else left.
The way I texted you even when I had nothing to say.
The way I always said yes even when I should've said no.
You knew. Of course, you knew.
But you acted like you didn't.
And I played along.
Because pretending felt safer than being shattered by your silence.
Miguel was always a little cruel, but never intentionally.
He could destroy you with a sentence and somehow still make you feel like it was your own fault. He never asked for love. He never promised anything in return.
He never owed me anything.
But still, I wanted everything from him.
I wanted to be the song that made him cry in the car at 2 a.m.
I wanted to be the reason he couldn't sleep. The regret that haunted him.
I wanted to make him feel the way he made me feel.
Ruined. Shaken. Breathless.
There was one night I keep replaying.
We were walking aimlessly, like we always did when sleep wouldn't come.
And I said it.Not "I love you." That would've been easy.I said,
"If you told me to, I'd ruin myself for you."
He didn't even flinch.
Just stared at me with those eyes that never gave anything away.
"You already are," he whispered.Then he walked away.
I didn't sleep that night.
You kissed me once.
I don't know if it meant anything to you.
To me, it was everything.
It didn't taste like love, it tasted like almost.
After that, we never talked about it.
I think we were both afraid that if we said the truth out loud, we'd ruin whatever fragile thing we had left.
And then you met her.
Of course, you did.
She was sunshine in places I was storm clouds.
She didn't need saving. I did.
You were happy.
I hated it.
But I told you I was glad for you.
I even smiled when you asked if I was okay.
Because that's what you do when you're not the one.
I kept going. I kept breathing.
I kept pretending I didn't miss you in all the small, unbearable ways.
I wrote letters I never sent.
Went on walks that felt like chasing your ghost.
Heard your name in strangers' voices.
I was the unfinished poem in the back of your notebook.
The half-forgotten lyric stuck to the roof of your mouth.
And when I saw your hand in someone else's, When I watched you laugh like I never could make you laugh, I realized something.
It was for the better.
You didn't need someone like me. Obsessive. Tired. Falling apart in quiet corners. You needed freedom.
So I let you go.
But some nights, when the world goes quiet and the ache settles in,
I still think...
If you called me, no matter the hour,
I'd drive all night just because you said, "maybe."
Because even if it was a mistake,
Even if it left me bleeding on your doorstep again,
It would be worth it.
You would be worth it.
But I know now.
It's for the better.
