It’s the last thing you said to me
before the glass store doors sighed open
and swallowed you whole.
My friend says you don’t want things to be awkward..
but “Peace.” is a funny thing to say to an ex
when the air between us is already
so full of things we never finished saying.
Still—
I don’t mind your awkward goodbyes.
They’re always so simple.
So simple that anyone else in the world
would have let them fall to the floor
like a receipt they didn’t need.
But I kept it.
I keep everything you leave behind.
Your words echo in that little building
long after the bell above the door stops ringing.
They sit in the chairs
between cheap tables
and drinks sweating in the cooler,
and I swear
the air itself remembers
the shape of your voice.
You try to act like
you’re only there for the usual things—
a drink from the cooler,
maybe a cookie,
Sometimes a 6inch sub..
Just something small you can carry
so it doesn’t look like
you came for anything else.
But I know you better than that.
I see the way your eyes move
when you think no one notices.
A glance that lasts half a second too long.
A pause when I walk past the chair you’re in.
That quiet curiosity
like you’re studying a story
you once knew by heart.
You look at me
like you’re trying to figure out
what chapters have been written
since you left.
And I pretend not to notice.
But the truth is
I see everything.
I see you
in the reflection of the glass cooler doors
when I open them.
Your shape behind me.
Your eyes flicking up
then quickly away.
I see you
in the dull silver skin
of the sub toaster,
your reflection bending and stretching
in the metal
like a memory that refuses
to stay still.
I watch you
without turning around.
It’s funny how reflections
become mirrors
when you’re too afraid
to look directly.
And sometimes
I swear I catch it—
that moment.
The second when you realize
I’m in the reflection too.
The second when you realize
I see you seeing me.
But neither of us says anything.
The store hums around us—
coolers buzzing,
doors opening,
talking about nothing important.
And in the middle of all of it
is this quiet little gravity
pulling my eyes toward you
over
and over
and over again.
Because every time
your “store visit” ends
and your hand pushes the door open,
the sunlight cuts around your shoulders
like the world is claiming you back.
Or on cold nights
the glare from outside
spills across your face
and makes your eyes look distant.
And my chest caves in a little.
Because peace
shouldn’t look like someone leaving.
I watch the door close behind you
and the glass reflects a girl
who ruined the best thing
that ever happened to her.
That girl is me.
You were never supposed to become
a wish.
You were supposed to be
my forever.
But now
you’re the thing
I beg the universe for
in the smallest moments.
When birthday candles flicker
I lean in
and whisper your name into the smoke.
When I find a penny
sitting lonely on the ground
or resting at the bottom of a fountain
I toss it in
like the water might carry my hope
to wherever you are.
When a shooting star tears open the sky
for half a second
like heaven blinking
I close my eyes
and it’s always you.
When a ladybug lands on my hand
and people say it’s lucky
I laugh a little
because if luck were real
you’d still be beside me.
And every time an eyelash falls loose
and rests on my fingertip
I hold it up to the light
like it’s fragile magic
and whisper your name
before blowing it away.
Every wish
is you.
You.
You.
You.
It’s strange how love works like that.
How a person becomes the center
of every quiet prayer
without even knowing it.
…
And maybe the worst part is
we already proved
we could do it.
We already had the late-night talks
and the laughing
and the kind of silence
that only happens when two people
feel safe enough
to just exist next to each other.
We already had love.
Real love.
The kind that makes the world feel softer.
But I cracked it open
with my own hands.
And now every piece of it
cuts me when I remember.
I replay that moment in the store
over and over in my head.
You standing there.
Me pretending I was okay.
The fluorescent lights humming above us
like they were the only witness.
Your eyes looking tired
but still kind.
The way the door opened
and you stepped through it.
And how badly
I wanted to run after you.
To grab your sleeve
before the outside world stole you again.
To say—
Wait.
Please.
We’ve done this before.
We know how to love each other.
We know how to laugh.
We know how to hold each other
like the world isn’t ending.
Why can’t we just try again?
But the door closed.
And the bell rang.
And the store went quiet.
All I can see is your long hair flowing in the wind.
then you’re gone…
And I was left standing there
watching the reflections fade
from the cooler glass
and the silver toaster
until it was just me again.
You probably don’t even know
how much your presence does to me.
People dream about money.
About new clothes.
About shiny things
that fill empty spaces.
But the only thing
I ever ask the universe for
is smaller than that.
Quieter.
I just want you
to keep walking through those doors.
I just want to see you
standing in the aisle
pretending to decide
between two drinks
while your eyes wander back toward me…
But we both know you’re going to grab a Mountain Dew.
I don’t beg for luxury.
I beg for moments.
For the sound of the door opening.
For the quick glance
you think I miss.
For the silent conversation
happening in reflections
and stainless steel.
Because even now—
after everything we broke
and everything I ruined—
when I see you there
watching me
the same way I watch you,
a fragile hope
starts breathing again.
Not loud.
Not certain.
Just quiet enough
to whisper
maybe
somewhere inside you
there’s still a piece of peace
that looks like me.
And if I’m honest
with the deepest part of myself—
I don’t want the world.
I don’t want the life
people say I should chase.
I don’t want riches
or closets full of things.
All I want
is the one thing
I can’t buy
and can’t force
and can’t hold onto
if you don’t want me to.
I want my peace back.
And my peace
was always
you.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 2:46 PM UTC
It’s the last thing you said to me
before the glass store doors sighed open
and swallowed you whole.
My friend says you don’t want things to be awkward..
but “Peace.” is a funny thing to say to an ex
when the air between us is already
so full of things we never finished saying.
Still—
I don’t mind your awkward goodbyes.
They’re always so simple.
So simple that anyone else in the world
would have let them fall to the floor
like a receipt they didn’t need.
But I kept it.
I keep everything you leave behind.
Your words echo in that little building
long after the bell above the door stops ringing.
They sit in the chairs
between cheap tables
and drinks sweating in the cooler,
and I swear
the air itself remembers
the shape of your voice.
You try to act like
you’re only there for the usual things—
a drink from the cooler,
maybe a cookie,
Sometimes a 6inch sub..
Just something small you can carry
so it doesn’t look like
you came for anything else.
But I know you better than that.
I see the way your eyes move
when you think no one notices.
A glance that lasts half a second too long.
A pause when I walk past the chair you’re in.
That quiet curiosity
like you’re studying a story
you once knew by heart.
You look at me
like you’re trying to figure out
what chapters have been written
since you left.
And I pretend not to notice.
But the truth is
I see everything.
I see you
in the reflection of the glass cooler doors
when I open them.
Your shape behind me.
Your eyes flicking up
then quickly away.
I see you
in the dull silver skin
of the sub toaster,
your reflection bending and stretching
in the metal
like a memory that refuses
to stay still.
I watch you
without turning around.
It’s funny how reflections
become mirrors
when you’re too afraid
to look directly.
And sometimes
I swear I catch it—
that moment.
The second when you realize
I’m in the reflection too.
The second when you realize
I see you seeing me.
But neither of us says anything.
The store hums around us—
coolers buzzing,
doors opening,
talking about nothing important.
And in the middle of all of it
is this quiet little gravity
pulling my eyes toward you
over
and over
and over again.
Because every time
your “store visit” ends
and your hand pushes the door open,
the sunlight cuts around your shoulders
like the world is claiming you back.
Or on cold nights
the glare from outside
spills across your face
and makes your eyes look distant.
And my chest caves in a little.
Because peace
shouldn’t look like someone leaving.
I watch the door close behind you
and the glass reflects a girl
who ruined the best thing
that ever happened to her.
That girl is me.
You were never supposed to become
a wish.
You were supposed to be
my forever.
But now
you’re the thing
I beg the universe for
in the smallest moments.
When birthday candles flicker
I lean in
and whisper your name into the smoke.
When I find a penny
sitting lonely on the ground
or resting at the bottom of a fountain
I toss it in
like the water might carry my hope
to wherever you are.
When a shooting star tears open the sky
for half a second
like heaven blinking
I close my eyes
and it’s always you.
When a ladybug lands on my hand
and people say it’s lucky
I laugh a little
because if luck were real
you’d still be beside me.
And every time an eyelash falls loose
and rests on my fingertip
I hold it up to the light
like it’s fragile magic
and whisper your name
before blowing it away.
Every wish
is you.
You.
You.
You.
It’s strange how love works like that.
How a person becomes the center
of every quiet prayer
without even knowing it.
…
And maybe the worst part is
we already proved
we could do it.
We already had the late-night talks
and the laughing
and the kind of silence
that only happens when two people
feel safe enough
to just exist next to each other.
We already had love.
Real love.
The kind that makes the world feel softer.
But I cracked it open
with my own hands.
And now every piece of it
cuts me when I remember.
I replay that moment in the store
over and over in my head.
You standing there.
Me pretending I was okay.
The fluorescent lights humming above us
like they were the only witness.
Your eyes looking tired
but still kind.
The way the door opened
and you stepped through it.
And how badly
I wanted to run after you.
To grab your sleeve
before the outside world stole you again.
To say—
Wait.
Please.
We’ve done this before.
We know how to love each other.
We know how to laugh.
We know how to hold each other
like the world isn’t ending.
Why can’t we just try again?
But the door closed.
And the bell rang.
And the store went quiet.
All I can see is your long hair flowing in the wind.
then you’re gone…
And I was left standing there
watching the reflections fade
from the cooler glass
and the silver toaster
until it was just me again.
You probably don’t even know
how much your presence does to me.
People dream about money.
About new clothes.
About shiny things
that fill empty spaces.
But the only thing
I ever ask the universe for
is smaller than that.
Quieter.
I just want you
to keep walking through those doors.
I just want to see you
standing in the aisle
pretending to decide
between two drinks
while your eyes wander back toward me…
But we both know you’re going to grab a Mountain Dew.
I don’t beg for luxury.
I beg for moments.
For the sound of the door opening.
For the quick glance
you think I miss.
For the silent conversation
happening in reflections
and stainless steel.
Because even now—
after everything we broke
and everything I ruined—
when I see you there
watching me
the same way I watch you,
a fragile hope
starts breathing again.
Not loud.
Not certain.
Just quiet enough
to whisper
maybe
somewhere inside you
there’s still a piece of peace
that looks like me.
And if I’m honest
with the deepest part of myself—
I don’t want the world.
I don’t want the life
people say I should chase.
I don’t want riches
or closets full of things.
All I want
is the one thing
I can’t buy
and can’t force
and can’t hold onto
if you don’t want me to.
I want my peace back.
And my peace
was always
you.
