I painted his nails hot pink,
called it a joke,
but we both held on
too long.
He hummed my favorite song,
two notes behind,
like catching up
was close enough.
He carried me upstairs once —
said I was light.
I believed him.
The polish chipped.
We didn’t.
Now,
he’s a voice
I scroll past,
and somewhere,
a pair of chipped pink nails
he never scrubbed off
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC
I painted his nails hot pink,
called it a joke,
but we both held on
too long.
He hummed my favorite song,
two notes behind,
like catching up
was close enough.
He carried me upstairs once —
said I was light.
I believed him.
The polish chipped.
We didn’t.
Now,
he’s a voice
I scroll past,
and somewhere,
a pair of chipped pink nails
he never scrubbed off
it was OPI polish, long lasting, but somehow didnt last enough.
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