but you were still the first person I thought of
I didn’t send the text.
Didn’t screenshot the numbers.
Didn’t say, “You’re not gonna believe this one.”
I just sat with it—
the win,
the quiet,
the ghost of your voice
finishing my sentence
like you used to.
The builders.
The developers.
The 20,000-yard wins.
The paving jobs.
The bonuses.
The pay increases.
The dreams.
The debt—gone.
There was a time
you would’ve screamed louder than I did.
Would’ve tackled me on the couch
before I could even say the client’s name.
Would’ve made a joke
and then made it sacred.
That’s the kind of love it was—
one that showed up
for spreadsheets and signatures,
like they were art shows and Grammy speeches.
And maybe you’ll never read this.
Maybe today is just mine.
But the truth is,
you were the first person
I didn’t tell.
And that still says something
about where my heart
thinks it belongs.