Loop

Loop
Don’t greet me like we’re still close
like we’re stitched into the same memory.
You say hi like nothing's changed,
but I’ve walked past you a hundred times
and watched your eyes look everywhere
but at me.

Do you know what that does?

I could spot you from a mile away,
feel my chest tighten,
heart clumsy and loud.
I’d brace myself
fix my face,
adjust my breath,
as if your silence was something sacred
I still wanted to impress.

And then you’d pass.
No glance. No shift.
Like I was air.
Not even a whisper of recognition.

I used to think we were friends
not the kind that just shared classes,
but the kind that shared a little more.
Inside jokes.
Mutual nods in crowded hallways.
A quiet rhythm.
Something.

But maybe that was only me.

Now, when I tell people I’m over it,
that you’re just someone I used to know
you show up.
With a smile. A greeting.
Just enough to confuse the silence I worked hard to build.

Why do you do that?

Why do you keep me in this loop
of awkward hellos
and colder goodbyes?
Of almost noticing
and never enough?

We’re standing at the edge of the last summer,
and after this,
the chances to cross paths
will be buried in new cities,
new people,
new lives.

And still,
you walk by like nothing was ever held,
like nothing was ever dropped.

Tell me
what if you had just looked back once?
What if I had meant a little more?
What if you had seen me,
really seen me?

But I know now
I was only ever
a classmate in your eyes.
A footnote.
A hallway blur.

And I’m tired
of being the only one who felt the weight.