The Eyes That Saw It Before Mine

You sent her this picture once, the same one you sent me — a frame where your smile sits softly, tilted, practiced, almost free. She saw you there first, before the filters, before the change. Before your voice curled around new names, new games, same stage. And now I sit with borrowed light, capturing something that felt brand new, only to find echoes of her reflection in you. Was it love when she received it? Or just a habit on repeat? Did her heart skip at the sight that now lies beneath my feet? I’m not asking to be first, just to be real — to know that this moment we share is something you still feel. But when your past clings to the present, when your eyes hold a ghost, I wonder who it is you miss the most. Don’t promise me originality in a pattern well worn. If this is love, make it reborn. Because I’m not here to relive someone else’s time not through the eyes that saw it before mine.

By[M.sudais]