Track 7 Was Always the One: She Told Twitter “I’m Not the Only One”

We never had the breakup conversation.
No “what are we?” No “it’s over.” Not even a slow fade into silence. What I got instead… was a tweet.

She didn’t tag me. Didn’t need to. We had a shared community back then, those days of “Twitter”, when the timeline still felt like a college cafeteria. When your followers actually knew you. When RTs meant you should probably text her back. And there it was. Her sub. Centered. Lyrical. With just enough plausible deniability to make me look crazy if I brought it up.

I read it three times. Checked the timestamp. Checked what I said to her that day. Checked her last texts to me, as if that would give me clues.
And then I remembered…

I had seen someone else that weekend.

It wasn’t cheating, not technically.
We weren’t exclusive, just entangled. A 30-Day Netflix trial. We were vibing. Hanging out. Kissing goodbye. Good morning texts. Middle-of-the-night calls. But we hadn’t had the talk. Still… she knew. Or maybe she felt it.

And that tweet? That was her letting it bleed.

Sam Smith dropped I’m Not the Only One in 2014. Back when heartbreak still sounded like wine glass ballads. That song? That’s not a break-up song. That’s an I know what you did and I’ve already cried about it, so now I’m posting about it like I’m okay song.

You say I’m crazy / ‘Cause you don’t think I know what you’ve done…

Her tweet wasn’t rage. It was resignation.
That’s what hit the hardest. She wasn’t telling me off. She was telling the void.
And I was the one screaming silently in her mentions, untagged.

I thought about responding.
Texting: “That tweet… was it about me?”
But what would I say if she said yes?

“You’re right”?
“My bad”?
“I didn’t mean for it to feel that way”?
“I thought we were cool”?

None of that heals anything.
And honestly, I think she knew that too.

That’s why she left it on Twitter.
She didn’t want closure. She wanted distance.
She didn’t want me to fix it. She wanted me to feel it.

And I did. To this day, I can’t hear that song without checking my ego.
Sam hits that chorus, and I start reviewing every almost-love I let fracture on purpose. She wasn’t the only one I disappointed. But she was the first who sang it out loud — through someone else’s voice.

Postlude

We never talked about it.
Ran into each other once a year or two later. The hug was quick. The smile was tired. Her phone lit up mid-convo and she didn’t bother to silence it. That’s when I knew. She was good. She had forgiven me in real-time. Via tweet.