you told me more.
about him.
about how he made you feel
like second place.
like a "maybe."
like a lesson.
and i listened.
with clenched fists
and a jaw that wanted to break.
not for revenge—
but for you.
"he's an asshole," i said.
you smiled.
half-hearted.
like you'd heard that line before.
"you deserve better, Hazel."
your eyes flicked up.
surprised.
confused.
almost soft.
"better than him?" you asked.
"better than what he made you believe you are."
i should've said.
but i didn't.
i just nodded.
because what the fuck could i say?
that i wanted to be the better?
that i was already picturing
our lives over coffee and guitars
when i still belonged to someone else?
i said it anyway.
"you deserve better, Hazel."
and for once,
i said something real.
even if it wasn't right.
even if i was lying by omission.
even if i wasn't the man you needed—
just the one
who saw you
when you were breaking quietly.