The room is too loud, the people too close, and yet everything feels distant.
The music blares, the chatter fills the air, but none of it matters.
All that matters is the door.
The exit.
I stand in the corner, unnoticed, watching them. The way they move through the crowd, the way their eyes flicker over the room—everything about them is magnetic.
They don’t see me, not the way I see them, and maybe that’s for the best.
Because the truth is, I can feel it in the air, that unspoken understanding between us—that we don’t belong here, together.
But even knowing that, even knowing we never should have crossed paths like this, I can’t bring myself to leave.
They’re close, close enough that I could reach out and touch them, but the space between us is thick with things unsaid, things we don’t acknowledge.
“I could leave right now, and I could disappear,
But I’m too afraid to walk out that door.”
I look at the door again.
I could walk out, slip through it quietly, and never return.
But there’s something about staying, about being close to them even if it doesn’t make sense.
I wonder if they feel it too—the pull toward something we can’t have, something we shouldn’t want.
I can’t breathe in this space, but I can’t bring myself to step away from it either.
I’m stuck, caught between wanting to escape and needing to stay.
They turn and catch my gaze, and for a split second, everything feels like it might fall apart. They look away quickly, as if they’re afraid I’ll see too much.
But I do see it.
I see the way they’re caught, too, in this quiet web of confusion and longing.
“I wanna walk away, but I’m still holding on,
And I don’t know why, but I just can’t be gone.”
The door is still there, always an option, but neither of us will take it.
Not yet.
I wonder if they know.
I wonder if they feel the same tension, the same ache in their chest when they look at me.
Or
maybe it’s just me, just my foolish heart that wants things it can never have.
I can see them, standing still, their body frozen, eyes locked on something far away.
Maybe they feel it too—the pull of the exit, the undeniable truth that we don’t belong here. That we never did.
I can see it in their face, the battle inside them, just as I fight my own.
“We both know we’re stuck, but I just can’t let go,
I want you more than you’ll ever know.”
And then, just as I think I might lose my nerve, the cold bite of November seeps through the window, the night air colder than it should be for a room this warm.
It’s a reminder that time is moving forward, even when we’re stuck in place.
“Mid-November, I’m sipping on half cold coffee,
Staring at a girl who’s not me, on your arms, a carbon copy.”
It’s like a punch to the gut.
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
But there they are, with someone else, someone who fits.
Someone who can stand by their side while I stand in the corner, holding onto something that will never be mine.
I know the answer, deep down.
I know what’s waiting for me on the other side of that door.
But walking through it would mean letting go, and letting go of them feels like something I’ll never be able to do.
And so, I stand there, caught in the silence between us, waiting for the inevitable.
The exit is the only way out.
The only way to survive this, to survive what we’ve become.
And yet, neither of us moves.
Finally, I hear the soft sound of footsteps, quiet enough that I almost miss it. It’s them, walking toward the door.
And for a moment, I think maybe, just maybe, they’ll stay. But when I look up again, they’re already gone.
“I can’t stay here anymore,
You’ve already walked out the door.”
The door shuts behind them. And I’m left standing alone, with nothing but the echoes of what we never were, and the door that will never open for me again.
