Déjà vu

Mikayla Moreno

 I think about you,
and it’s like I’m trapped in the moment all over again—
like time doesn’t move when it comes to you.
I feel the sting in my eyes,
tears rising like they were never really gone,
like they never dried in the first place.
I pray,
and I cry,
and I ask God why—
why did I fall for his lie
when deep down I knew better?
I knew better.
They say don’t read the same book twice
if you already know the ending.
But I didn’t just read it twice—
I studied it,
memorized every heartbreak,
lived every chapter over and over
like pain was a comfort I couldn’t let go of.
And the saddest part?
I would read it again.
Every word.
Every lie.
Just for the hope that maybe this time
we’d mean it when we said we were trying.
But “trying” is a word people hide behind.
You can fake trying.
You can pretend,
and it’ll look just like love—
feel just like forever.
I thought we were real.
It felt real.
And that’s what hurts the most.
It was like a dream I had already lived,
one where the ending never changed.
I think of your laugh.
Your smile.
The way it felt like home
just to hear your name.
I would run myself into the ground
if you asked me to.
It’s not life or death—
but sometimes, without you,
I forget how to feel alive.
I know this story.
I’ve lived this goodbye.
Yes—
I’ve felt this ache before.
Like déjà vu,
but worse.
And I’d cry a thousand nights
just to relive a single one beside you.
Because yes,
I’ve lived this ending before—
I just never stopped hoping it would end differently.
Déjà vu.
But every day felt like a dream
because I was with you.
Now I miss the lie
more than I miss the truth.
Because even lies
felt like love
when they came from you.

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