the back of my throat feels tight, like i'm swallowing something i can't quite name. phantom taste of wine on my tongue but it's and i swear i haven't yet. it's the way your name still feels like a betrayal, a cheap imitation of joy, and i'm trying to forgive myself for ever letting it feel like home. that shape keeps haunting my chest the way those hoodies haunt the laundry pile like a scent memory. this isn't love anymore, it's just... muscle memory i guess