I Didn’t Say a Word

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.