The Crooked Half-Smile

For the nights when I don’t say much— and the song speaks for me.

There’s a version of me you only meet in silence.

You’ll know it when it’s happening. The world will feel a little slower, like someone dragged a cigarette across the second hand and let the smoke hang in the air too long. I won’t say much. Maybe nothing. Just a breath that didn’t go all the way in, a glance that drifts and doesn’t come back right away.

Still Beating by Mac DeMarco plays somewhere nearby—barely audible, like it snuck in from another room. That jangly, melancholy twang he does, half-drunk and full of something you can’t quite name. It’s looping quietly, almost accidentally, like my playlist knew what kind of moment this was before I did.

I’m slouched a little, head tilted just enough to read “worn in” without saying “broken.” There’s a ring around my eyes, not from crying, just from not sleeping. From thinking too long in dark rooms. From living three lives in one body and trying not to show the seams.

And then I look at you.

Not with hunger, not even with recognition—just a tired sort of awareness. Like I know you’re there, and that’s enough for now. Like I’m too spent to reach for anything else but not cruel enough to look away. There’s a soft weight behind my stare, like I’m trying to see something in you I can rest inside for a while. Something that won’t ask me to explain.

I give you half a smile.
The crooked kind.
The kind that says, yeah, I’m still here,
…but I don’t know why.

You might ask if I’m okay.
You might not.
Either way, I won’t say much.
The song keeps playing.

“My heart still beats for you...”
he sings.

And maybe it does.
Maybe it doesn’t.
But in that moment,
I just need to sit still
and let someone else say it for me.

---

// Scorpio Veil
For the nights when the music understands you
better than the people who say they love you.