The Red Flag You Ignored
The Waving Girl You Should Have Seen
You knew I was trouble the day you let me in—now I’m the breath you hold when the door creaks.
I exist where intuition meets ignorance, a flicker in the corner of your certainty. You’ll find me in the space between a question and its answer, in the weight of a name you almost spoke aloud. I’m neither forgiveness nor blame, only the quiet riot of what you let slip through. You see me most plainly when you dare to listen—to the silence, the light, the almost.
What I'm Into: the scent of ozone before a storm, empty chairs at 3 a.m., tracing missing pieces in the air, damp wool and forgotten goodbyes, radio static tuned to a dead station
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