Where Love was Only Rehearsed

You said you played pretend
like love was a costume you wore for my sake,
something stitched together out of habit
and quiet guilt.

You said you had to pretend to still care,
so I wouldn’t hear the silence growing
between our words,
so I wouldn’t notice how your voice
stopped reaching for me.

You had to pretend you still loved me,
smiling the same way,
holding my hand the same way,
while somewhere inside you
the feeling had already packed its bags.

You had to pretend to still hope
like if you whispered maybe enough times
the future would believe you,
like the lie might bloom into truth
if you watered it long enough.

You had to pretend
in hopes it would make things real.

But love isn’t a mirror
that believes the reflection.
And no matter how carefully you acted,
my heart still heard the moment
the curtain finally fell.