i didn't choose you
when i saved your number,
but pretended you were just "a friend."
you weren't.
not even close.
i didn't choose you
when i let her scream your name,
call you a whore,
while i stood in the hallway,
mute as a fucking ghost.
i didn't choose you
when you had an accident,
and i sat there,
drinking my coffee
instead of running to you.
i didn't choose you
when you sang my favorite song
under the stars,
and i felt everything,
but still walked away
like a coward.
i didn't choose you
when i kissed her,
thinking it would make you disappear.
i didn't choose you
when you told me your ex cheated,
and i cursed him
like i wasn't doing the same thing
by loving you in silence.
i didn't choose you
when i left the group chat,
but never deleted your number.
i didn't choose you
when you sat beside me,
telling me about your dreams,
and i sat there—
a man with no courage,
no answers,
no plans.
i didn't choose you.
not because i didn't want to.
but because wanting you
scared the fuck out of me.
you were real.
messy.
loud in the quietest ways.
you saw through me
like it was nothing.
and that terrified me.
so i stayed
with the girl i thought i owed something to.
i called it loyalty.
i called it commitment.
but deep down,
it was fear.
fear of breaking something safe
for something uncertain.
fear of loving someone
who could actually love me back.
because maybe—
if i chose you,
i'd have to become the version of me
i've always avoided.
the one who shows up.
the one who admits his feelings.
the one who risks everything
for a maybe.
but i didn't.
i let you go
before i ever had you.
and i keep asking myself—
does that make me good?
or just fucking coward?