I Should Have Known

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HIM

You were humming in the kitchen.

Wearing his shirt.

I didn't know it then.

But now—

God, now I can't unsee it.


His cologne clung to you

like a second skin.

And I thought

maybe it was mine.

Maybe I forgot what mine smelled like.


I found the message by accident.

Didn't even mean to look.

But your phone lit up

and there it was.


"Miss you already."


A heart.

Two hearts.

One for me,

and one for someone who had you

while I was still learning to speak your name again.


I didn't say anything at first.

Just watched you laugh,

watched your hands move through your hair

like you weren't already unravelling me.


And when I finally asked—

quiet, scared,

the way you once asked me to stay—


you didn't lie.


You just said,

"I never promised."


You said it like fact.

Like I was foolish

for believing your lips

meant anything more

than habit.


You didn't cry.

Didn't beg.

Didn't even flinch.


You watched me fall

the way I once watched you.

Except you didn't look away.


You wanted me to feel it.

And I did.

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