He thought I'd fade.
Like perfume on a borrowed hoodie.
Like a bruise that doesn't hurt anymore.
Like a dream you can't quite remember by noon.
But I wasn't built to be forgotten.
I was a storm.
And he—he stood without an umbrella, thinking he'd survive the downpour.
---
I heard it from a friend of a friend.
That he'd been out.
That he'd been smiling.
That he'd been trying.
New girls. New places. New habits.
All of it screamed one thing: distraction.
Because when someone like me walks out,
you don't move on—
you search.
And baby, he was searching blind.
---
I saw him once.
Weeks later.
At a café I used to love before he ruined its silence.
He was with her.
Pretty. Polished. Laughing like nothing in the world had ever broken her.
But his eyes weren't on her mouth.
Not the way they used to be on mine.
He wasn't leaning in, like he couldn't get enough of her air.
He wasn't there.
Because he was looking at her
like he was trying
to see me.
---
That's the thing about boys like him.
They don't lose you the moment you walk away.
They lose you in pieces.
In the way coffee doesn't taste the same.
In the silence between someone else's laughter.
In the pauses they take when they almost say your name instead.
He thought I was replaceable.
He forgot I ruined him quietly.
---
I didn't wave.
Didn't stop.
Didn't let my heart even flinch.
I just passed.
Like I never knew his touch.
Like my lips hadn't memorized the shape of his.
Like he didn't shatter me once and expect me to stay in pieces.
And when I was halfway down the block,
I let myself smile.
Because for the first time—
He was the one looking back.
---
He'll keep searching.
Trying to find girls who smile the way I used to.
Who kiss with fire and forgiveness.
Who argue like they mean it and love like it's war.
But they won't be me.
They'll be echoes.
And echoes fade.
---