this is the part where the music gets too loud

for the boy who didn’t cry, but almost did

you didn’t cry.
not really.
but your eyes did that thing—
glassy,
like a window in winter
with too much weight behind it.
like if you blinked wrong,
it’d all come out.
and maybe that’s why
we kept looking down,
kept talking like
joking would keep our throats from catching.

i said
“i don’t want to cry. i’ll ruin my makeup.”
and you smirked,
too soft for a laugh…
but your eyes were glass.
and later,
when it cracked,
you said
“yeah, well, i can’t mess up mine either.”
and it was stupid
and sweet
and i hate
how even in the unraveling,
you still knew how to make me
forget we were falling apart.

the fray played.
how to save a life.
and we both heard it.
“where did I go wrong? i lost a friend
somewhere along in the bitterness
and I would have stayed up with you all night
had I known how to save a life”
you didn’t flinch—
you leaned into it,
grinned,
said
“at least we’ve got this song.”
and i laughed.
like it was funny
to be destroyed in HD.
like it was romantic
to be ruined with a soundtrack.
and i laughed,
because what else do you do
when the world
starts narrating your heartbreak?

we said goodbye twice.
once in your bed,
once at the door.
you held me
a second too long both times.
which is just long enough
to feel like a promise
you didn’t mean to make.
to feel permanent
for one more second.

like maybe
if you held me like you meant it,
the goodbye wouldn’t count.

i asked
what we do now.
what people like us do
when we don’t keep exes
in our pockets.

you said
“i don’t know.”

i wish you’d said
“we’ll figure it out,”
or
“we’ll fade naturally.”
instead of giving me
an open-ended silence
to carry like a ticking clock.

you looked at me
like i was everything
you’d ever wanted
but were scared to misplace.

like you’d already written the ending
and still didn’t want to turn the page.

you told me
if i text, you’ll answer.
and maybe you meant
“i’m still here, just in case.”
like you were offering me
a ghost.
like you were saying
“here’s a thread to pull when you miss me—
just know it won’t bring me back.”

and maybe you were choosing me
in your own broken way.
maybe leaving
was your version of loving.
a mercy exit
so i wouldn’t hate you later.
but i would’ve taken the mess.
i would’ve stayed
through the storm
if you’d just told me
which way the wind was blowing.

now
you’re not here.
but i still feel the shape
of you
in every room i enter.
like a smell that lingers.
like a hoodie i can’t wash
because it still feels like you.

but all i’m left with
is a song,
a second too long in your arms,
and the joke you made
with glass in your eyes.

you didn’t leave
because you stopped feeling.

you left
because you felt
too much.

and the worst part is—
you would’ve loved
this poem.