BURIED

 BURIED

No matter how fiercely you chose to bid farewell,
it should have ended the moment you crossed that threshold,
slamming the door on our shared horizon. Instead, here I linger, reduced to pleading for your honesty—
praying your words aren't laced with the lies you weave so well,
my thoughts pirouetting wildly, like a ballerina trapped
in the ceaseless twirl of an open music box. We both wield the tools for unraveling knots,
yet are we armed with the wisdom, the steady logic,
to confront the raw edges—the anomalies of betrayal,
the jagged choices that scar the soul? I shield this wreckage from prying eyes,
refusing to let the world witness the ruin you left behind.
You departed with a chilling indifference, only to return
in whispers that twisted my gut, betraying the instinct
that screamed it was over—no embrace, no final touch. Your pride withheld even that bare minimum,
knowing the twelve-hour void of a flight awaited me:
a solitary hell of hallucinations, silent sobs,
emotions churning like storm clouds at thirty thousand feet. Planes weren't built for hearts buckling at the knees,
nor for the turbulence of grief you unleashed,
weaponized against me in what stretched like an eternity
until touchdown, until I could shatter in seclusion. But I didn't. By the time I unpacked, reclaimed my days,
the well of tears had run dry—I was finished,
no further need to mourn what you'd already buried.