When the news breaks, you'll be home alone staring at your phone and realize the only thing in your hand is that, while he as her fingertips in his. As you fall asleep her name with echo in your mind like the words he once whispered into your ear and when you shut your eyes the darkness will be faded out by the picture of her hair against his chest, long legs wrapped in blankets.
You'll be nothing but a memory packed away in the boxes of his attic, the childhood toy he used to play with. You'll become the vintage wine he'll only want to taste when the time is right and goddamn you need to stop saying yes to dinner because you're only his friend, you're not special. Everyone eats.
He'll tose you aside like the monthly bill he hates to pay and he will see her as the package he's been waiting for all week. Ripping her open and feeling her skin, while you're left on the shelf waiting to be looked at again.
By Isable Cabrera
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