You left without a word.

No warning, no goodbye.

Just silence.

Thick, ugly, and loud in all the places your voice used to be.

One day we were real

your body embracing mine,

your lips promising this was different,

something safe, something true.

The next, you were gone.

Not dead.

Worse.

Alive, smiling in photos with a man. Creatures you once swore you’d never need.

Married now you say like it’s a badge.

Like that means something.

Like vows erase the months we spent building.

I hope the ring on your finger fits tighter

than the lies your tongue told.

Because how do you explain that someone loved you like fire walked away like smoke.

You said you couldn’t breathe outside our world.

Now you’re breathing his air.

Wearing his name.

Sleeping in a lie you chose to make your truth.

You made me your experiment and abandoned me without the decency of closure.

You acted like I was nothing when I saw you again. Your face was calm as if my body hadn’t been your shelter.

As if I didn’t bleed when you ran.

I wonder if he knows he’s holding someone who buried a part of herself to be his bride.

You don’t get to pretend I was nothing.

I held you, I loved you with my whole damn soul.

In my worst moments, I see you. When I sleep, your name comes like a wound reopened.

In the end, you chose them, leaving a grave behind.