The Same Pause

They said it again. The same words.

The same pause before saying them.

The same tone. The same delay.

I felt my stomach drop

because it wasn't new—

because I knew

it was coming before they spoke.

That pause. That specific hesitation.

The way they looked away

before they had to say

the thing I already heard.

The word choice was the same.

The inflection. The shame

of living through it once more.

Of knowing what comes when.

I tried to move. Tried to leave.

But I'm stuck here and I believe

I'm trapped in the repeat

of a moment I can't escape.

The world isn't new.

The world is just what's true:

the same room, the same pause,

the same thing.

Over and over and over.