It's the little things that hurt the most.
The way he brushes my shoulder as he laughs at something I said.The way he tells me I "get him" like no one else does.The way he texts me late at night when he can't sleep, asking, "Are you up?"I always am. For him, I always am.
Sometimes I wonder if he knows.If he ever stops and thinks—why does she always stay?Why does she remember the things I forget?Why does she look at me like I'm more than just a person passing through?
But then he talks about her again.
The new girl. The one he thinks might finally be different.I smile. I listen. I ask all the right questions, like a good friend does.
I'm always almost enough.Almost seen.Almost chosen.
But never quite.
And maybe he'll never know what it feels like to hold someone in your heart so tightly, while they keep looking past you—toward someone else.
Still, I stay.
Not because I think he'll turn around one day.But because loving him, even quietly, still feels better than letting him go.