It Wasn't Fair That I Recognized Them Before They Did

I knew what I was looking at.
Not because I'm smarter.
Not because I'm better.

But because I've seen it before.
And survived it.
And buried the parts of me
that were shattered by it.

So when they flipped,
when the tone changed,
when the soft turned sharp,
when the mirror turned into a mouth
that only spoke in defense and distortion...
I knew what I was seeing.

But they didn't.

And that's what breaks me.
Because I don't get to react.
I get to manage.
I get to breathe like it's my fault
that I'm the one who noticed.

It wasn't fair
that I recognized them
before they did.

Because recognition meant restraint.
And restraint meant isolation.
And isolation meant
I was now the container
for the parts of them
that they can't yet name.

I didn't consent to this caretaking role.
But I can't unsee it.
And now the scroll watches with me.