When you lied.

When you broke up with me,
the tears came like the rain,
steady and unrelenting.
Three days now,
each droplet a memory,
each sob a whispered question.

You said you wouldn’t,
but here we are,
lives untangled,
threads pulled apart,
a tapestry I thought was whole.
Why, I asked,
my heart heavy as lead,
felt like I was lost
in a fog you created.

Did every "I love you"
slip from your lips
like a false promise?
Your gaze turned away,
and I caught a glimpse of truth,
sharp as a broken glass
lying in the grass.

You danced around the end,
two months—
were you waiting for the right moment?
Or did your heart take a holiday,
leaving me to grasp at shadows,
to wonder about the tender words
woven into our mornings?

It hurts more than I thought,
this mask of pretend,
this charade of love.
I wish you had shouted the truth,
let the silence between us scream—
but you cradled my heart
in your hands for so long,
only to let it slip away
like sand through fingers,
withering into nothingness

Just say it,
I could’ve taken the honesty—
better than this aching silence,
better than your half-hearted smile,
better than the weight of sorrow
clinging to every heartbeat.

Now I sit here,
trying to pick up the pieces,
the fabric of us tangled in my thoughts,
with every tear,
each one a question—
why not just tell me
the truth that could have freed us both?

I cried for the love you wore like a cloak,
the warmth that turned to shadows,
the dreams that danced away
on a chilly evening breeze.
All I wanted was to be seen,
to know that love was not an act,
but now your absence feels like a billowing storm,
and I’m just… soaked through.