the fool who noticed first

i keep thinking about the moment right after everything goes wrong —
not the breaking itself,
but the breath that comes after,
when the world hasn’t caught up yet
and you’re still standing there,
mask in one hand,
heart in the other,
trying to pretend they aren’t the same weight.

you told me once that i rush toward the things
i should be wary of.
i laughed like it wasn’t true,
but i felt the sting of it —
the way i step forward
even when the ground feels uncertain,
even when i know i’m walking into a version of myself
i’m not ready to meet.

loving you felt like that.
not dangerous —
but tilted.
a little sideways.
like seeing a reflection in something moving
and trying to trust the shape of it anyway.

you didn’t mean to be the mirror,
but you were.
and i hated how much i recognized myself in you:
the practiced ease,
the softness that only appears
when you think no one is paying attention,
the way we both use lightness
to hide the heaviness underneath.

the truth is,
i kept inventing myself around you.
not lying —
just adjusting,
as if shifting one degree to the left
would make me someone steadier,
someone who didn’t flinch
when her own longing looked back at her.

you saw the real version sometimes,
the off-guard one,
the one who forgot to perform.
and every time you did,
it felt like standing too close to a duel
i didn’t remember agreeing to.
how strange,
to feel both chosen and exposed in the same heartbeat.

we were always a little mismatched,
you know?
your gentleness where mine sharpened,
my caution where yours collapsed.
two people circling something unnamed,
each waiting for the other to declare the truth
so we wouldn’t have to be the first fool.

but that’s the point —
someone always is.
someone always steps closer
before they know what they’re stepping into.
someone always removes their mask first
and hopes the other recognizes the face beneath it.

i think i was that someone.
not proud, not ashamed —
just honest.

the thing i finally understand is this:
you can learn more about yourself
in one moment of unsteady love
than in years of certainty.
you can see the outline of who you could’ve become
if fear hadn’t held the door shut.

and i think that’s why i keep returning to it —
not to you,
but to the person i was when i stood there,
half-lit, half-lost,
heart too loud,
mask slipping,
finally realizing
that being foolish
is sometimes just another word
for being brave enough to see yourself clearly
for the first time.

Written by W.L