Déjà Vu
I know I’ve been here before.
The same light. The same silence. The same breath caught between staying and leaving.
It’s as if my soul arrived first, quietly whispering, “You know this place,” while my mind stood behind, empty handed.
I swear I’ve been here before.
I keep reaching for the memory, certain I’ll find it this time, but it slips through my fingers like smoke through an open palm.
All I’m left with are shadows, goosebumps, and the ache of recognizing what I cannot remember.
she was quietly falling apart. She was always just… there. Existing. Figuring things out in silence like some abandoned group project nobody wanted to claim.
I used to feel sorry for her.
And if I’m being very honest, a tiny part of me also thought that was why she would never
If you had met both of us years ago, you would have known it too.
Teni and I were friends, yes but we were never really on the same level.
That sounds harsh. I know. But some truths are ugly before they are honest.
I was the one people believed in.
I was the one teachers praised
didn’t.
She built a life with bare hands,
while I stood in another country
holding a polished dream
that was falling apart in my arms.
And the truth is I didn’t hate her because she changed.
I hated her because she proved
that everything I used to pity her for
was never enough