He wove a tapestry of "almosts" and "soon,"
Under the silver of a deceptive moon.
He spoke of futures in a hushed, low tone,
Making me feel I’d never be alone.
Every lingering look, every "accidental" touch,
Was a hollow promise that cost him nothing, but meant so much.
I built a cathedral out of his fleeting smiles,
Walking toward a mirage for miles and miles.
He didn't just walk away; he pivoted his heart,
Tearing my world and my dignity apart.
The "us" he whispered was a phantom, a lie,
A script he rehearsed before saying goodbye.
And now the silence is louder than the words he said,
As I lie awake with his ghost in my head,
Wondering which laugh was real and which was a play,
To keep me waiting while he looked the other way.
Now my thumb hovers, trembling, over the glass,
Watching the digital ghosts of my heartbreak pass.
The blue light burns, a cold and cruel glare,
Showing me the love he promised me… but she is there.
Her hand in his, the caption a blade,
Celebrating the very choice by which I was betrayed.
Every "like," every heart, every filtered glow,
Is a fresh, jagged lesson in letting him go.
I see them laughing where I thought I would stand,
While my world turns to salt and shifting sand.
It’s not just the loss; it’s the replaced space,
Seeing my hope reflected in her smiling face.
I have to hide the screen to catch my breath,
As social media whispers the rumors of my heart’s death.
He made me believe, then he made me a ghost,
Now I’m dying a little with every new post.
So I wear the mask, a perfect, hollow shell,
Performing "happy" while I walk through hell.
I type the "congrats" with a steady, numb hand,
Building a fortress on sinking sand.
I smile at the screen till my cheekbones ache,
Ensuring they never see the spirit they break,
For if they knew the weight of my silent cry,
They’d know that his "maybe" was a long, slow lie.
I’m a ghost at the feast, a shadow in the glow,
The only one watching the truth they don’t know.
I praise their "perfection" to keep up the play,
While I scrub the salt of his memory away.
It’s the ultimate penance, the cruelest of tasks:
To bless the very union that removed my mask,
And act like I’m cheering from the front of the line,
While she lives the life that I thought was mine.
I drape my pride like a heavy, velvet shroud,
And laugh a little harder when the room is loud.
I’ve mastered the art of the effortless "fine,"
Drawing a silver, unshakeable line
Between the girl who is dying inside,
And the one who has nowhere left to hide.
I am the architect of a flawless facade,
Applauding the cruelest trick of his god.
I let my "likes" be the proof of my peace,
A performance of grace that will never cease.
I want him to look and see nothing but gold,
Not the shivering wreck left out in the cold.
If I play the part well, he will never suspect
That every "well wish" is a soul being wrecked,
That beneath the polite and the practiced "good luck,"
I am reeling and gasping from where I was struck.
The exhaustion is a poison, a slow-moving ache,
Maintaining the image for everyone’s sake.
My heart is a cavern of glass and of stone,
But I’ll suffer the wreckage entirely alone.
Let them believe I am healed, I am free,
That his betrayal had no power over me.
I’ll stay in the spotlight, pretending I’m whole,
While the weight of the acting swallows my soul.
