you kissed me once --
you were drunk,
and it was once,
just once --
and then laughed like it was nothing
but your hand lingered
just half a second too long.
half a second.

you held my secrets
like folded contracts,
terms tucked
into your quiet,
and sneaky glances
like maybe
you were hoping,
and praying that i wouldn't read them.
or try to.

i should've known.
love was never in bold.
it was small,
curved quietly into the margin
of every almost we had pretended
didn't matter to us,
to me,
to anyone,
at all.

now you hold her hand
in public.
and i hold
all the things
you never said --
only highlighted,
neon yellow,
and in hindsight.

i should've read the terms,
the conditions,
the fine print.
should've known.