They always have time
when they need a favor,
when you’re holding the key
to something they want.

They call you when they miss you
but do they even miss you?
Or do they just miss the feeling,
the comfort, the easy warmth
of someone who sees them
when the world turns cold.

When you need them
the line goes silent.
When they’re having a moment
your name rings loud,
as if you were the answer
to a question they barely understand.

They like mystery
until they miss the ordinary.
They like magic
but only the kind
they can hold without fear.

They like cute,
they like quiet
until they crave noise.
They like your chaos
until it spills over the edges
they swore they could handle.

They like you…
until you haunt them in their sleep.
Until your absence tastes heavier
than your presence ever did.

They never stay.
They never mean to.
They linger
just long enough
for you to hold a room
for their inconsistencies,
to make space in your chest
for their half-kept promises.

They like what they hear,
but when what they see
becomes too real
too honest,
too you
they flinch.

They like you when they see you,
forget you when they don’t.
And then they pop back up
I miss you.
I wish you were here.

But they were never real.
Because you
you were never theirs.