Three years passed
since the last time
I looked at your face
and let my heart pretend
you meant something.
And then̶
that coffee shop.
I walked in
and there you were.
Same fucking smile.
Same sweet scent of
vanilla lies.
You left your friends.
Of course you did.
Because when it comes to me,
you always found a way
to make it feel special.
We talked.
About your job.
My masterʼs degree.
The weather.
The music.
The coffee.
But never once
about us.
About that night.
About the fucking silence
that stretched across years.
And when it was time to leave,
I said goodbye.
You said
"see you."
But no.
No, I donʼt fucking want to see you again.
Not in this life.
Not in the next.
Not in my dreams
where your ghost still smells like
sweet regret
and
missed chances.
This is closure.
This is
the last poem
youʼll ever get from me.