I noticed it first
in the pauses.
How her hand lingered on your arm
Half a breath too long,
How your smile shifted—
Softened—
Like a door left ajar.
Tina.
Your best friend.
The woman who knew your coffee order,
Your childhood fears,
The shape of your laughter
When it slipped loose.
I stood between you once,
Felt the heat of something unspoken
Move around me,
Like static before a storm.
Desire doesn’t shout—
It hums.
You swore nothing was happening,
But your body betrayed you
In quiet ways.
The way you leaned toward her voice.
The way your eyes followed her mouth
As if it were already familiar.
I caught myself imagining—
Not because I wanted to,
But because tension demands release.
Your breath mixing with hers.
Her knowing exactly where to stand,
Exactly how close.
Betrayal is intimate.
It presses in slow,
Wraps itself around the ribs.
It makes the air feel thick,
Makes want and hurt
Share the same skin.
When the truth finally surfaced,
It wasn’t loud.
It was warm.
Close.
Unavoidable.
You didn’t fall into her.
You leaned.
And she caught you.
That’s what undressed me—
The way desire grew
While I was still in the room,
The way you learned her body
With patience once reserved for mine.
And still, even ruined by knowing,
My pulse answered the memory of you.
Because the cruelest part of longing
Is how it survives betrayal—
How it aches,
Slow and deliberate,
Like a touch you never asked for
But felt anyway.
