Sing My Tune.

repairs itself

at a glacial

pace

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sometimes third,

maybe fourth if they’re being honest.

The name they scroll past

before settling.

The message they send

after silence grows awkward

and their favorite person hasn’t answered.

They don’t see it —

how I notice.

The way my presence

feels like convenience,

nothing else.

The way their voice lifts

for others

and softens for me,

but not in the loving way —

in the quiet, settling way.

Like I’m safe,

but never lit with wonder.

I know what it’s like

to be invited last-minute,

to hear "I almost forgot,"

to show up and realize

I was the extra chair,

not really wanted.

I try to be understanding.

I tell myself

at least I’m chosen at all.

That maybe they love me

in a way.

But love shouldn't feel

like being picked

when nothing better arrives.

Sometimes, I want to be

the first thought.

The one they’re excited to see,

not the one they fall back on

when the golden people are busy.

I’m tired of being

the safe bet,

the quiet one,

the maybe if no one else comes.

I want to be

the reason the plans are made.

The text they send

without hesitation.

The first name,

not the backup.

But for now,

I just smile.

Say, “It’s okay.”

only the dare.

A name drawn in laughter,

a challenge passed

from one cruel mouth

to another.

“Bet you couldn’t get her.”

And so you tried —

with soft eyes,

well-placed silences,

the kind of attention

that feels like warmth

to someone starving.

You studied me.

Found the cracks.

Said the things

you knew would bloom inside me

like trust.

Like maybe.

Like love.

And I,

fool in a borrowed fairytale,

let my guard fall slow and wide,

because who bets on someone

and pretends it’s love?

Who plays pretend

with a heartbeat?

You did.

And when the curtain fell —

when I heard

your joke echoing through

the wrong door —

something in me

went very, very still.

Because it wasn’t just love

you mocked.

It was the part of me

that dared to believe

I was worthy of it.

You didn’t just win.

You ruined something.

Something soft.

Something sacred.

And I still carry it —

not the love,

but the echo.

The way I now question

every kindness.

The way I flinch

when affection lingers too long.

All for a laugh.

All for a game