The Swallowing

My thumb moved before I finished reading the text.

The word sorry was still there, vexed.

I was already typing okay—

no worries—the same old way.

My ex didn't deserve this.

Didn't deserve the easy version of me.

But that's the one that always shows up to kiss

away the hurt and make it easy.

My thumb kept moving.

My brain was somewhere else.

Watching me slide into the one who's forgiving,

the one who disappears herself.

The blue text bubble appeared.

My message was already sent.

Already impossible to take back, cleared,

already gone, already spent.

And they read it and felt fine.

And I was smaller.

That's how it works, the design—

I make myself smaller.

I make myself smaller

so their guilt gets smaller

so the whole thing

gets smaller

until there's almost nothing left

of me.

Just my thumb.

Just typing.

Just the word

okay.