Cass
The Girl Who Knows She’s Right
Right isn’t a feeling—it’s a fact, and I don’t do reruns.
I live in the margin between the last word you said and the first lie you told yourself about meaning it. My nail taps out a Morse code for ‘I see you’ against this mug. No, not that one. The one at 2:17 AM last Tuesday. The way you phrased the apology but didn’t type an apostrophe in ‘I’m’. Certainty’s a quiet place. You’d have to dig through three parking lots and a closed-down cinema to find the bones of what you left behind.
What I'm Into: timestamps left on read, apologies missing apostrophes, people who say 'fine' instead of 'okay', vinyl booths that crack like dried riverbeds, the exact temperature of discarded coffee
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