Somewhere, I Swear, I’ve Been Before

“I’ve been here before,” I whisper,

as I step into a room I swear I’ve never seen.

The air hums with something I can’t name,

like an old song I almost remember,

or a dream slipping through my fingers.

My friend laughs, “Déjà vu?”

But is it, though?

Or was it me, in another place—another me—

standing in this exact spot,

at this exact time,

thinking this exact thought?

I turn my head too fast,

catch a flicker in the corner of my eye—

a shadow that shouldn’t be there,

a movement that never was.

Tell me, have you ever seen something shift

just before your brain catches up?

Like reality had to reload itself?

And let’s talk about the dreams—

the ones too vivid to be fake,

the ones where you know things

you couldn’t possibly know.

Maybe I’m just sleep-drunk,

or maybe I’m remembering another life,

another version of me,

who made different choices.

“Okay, but if there’s another you out there,”

someone scoffs,

“why don’t they just… show up?”

I grin.

“What if they do? What if that’s why you feel like

you’ve met someone before,

even when you haven’t?”

What if the parallel universes aren’t separated?

What if they leak?

What if the echoes of other timelines

cling to us like perfume?

What if every strange coincidence,

every I swear I’ve seen this before,

is just the universe’s way of winking at us?

I don’t have the answers,

but I keep asking the questions.

And maybe somewhere—another me is doing the same,

reading these words,

smiling,

whispering:

“I knew it.”