what if i never came that night
to that stupid rooftop gathering,
where the sky was too clear
and the coffee too bitter
and some girl named Hazel
smoked marlboro like she owned the stars.
what if i stayed home instead,
curled next to Iris,
loving her the way i used to—
or maybe the way i should've.
what if i never heard your voice,
singing One Last Cry under your breath,
never watched your brows furrow
when you talked about your favorite books,
never noticed the way your hands danced
when you argued about lyrics and meaning and pain.
maybe—
just maybe,
i wouldn't be like this.
haunted
every fucking time Jet plays,
drunk off memories i shouldn't keep,
writing songs i swore weren't about you,
but always were.
maybe i'd still be in love with Iris.
maybe we'd be engaged now,
planning a wedding i'd fake my way through,
telling myself
this is enough.
this is love.
but we did meet.
and now i carry you
like a fucking curse
in every room,
in every silence,
in every
"what if."