Damn, your PDA!

a jovial you pranced
about the kitchen counter
in your instagram story. there’s
this annoying clanking
of pans in the backdrop
that wants me to close it.
but i stick around. like always.
looking at your dimly-lit face,
and your delicate lips tinted
by beads of moisture, while you
pour a thick stream of lavish
chocolate into an egg-mold.

it’s bewildering to watch
your Easter preparations.
last year i remember your asking
me what’s good friday
all about. i will be honest,
i had no clue. but i read up.
about the Catholic faith and
Christ's sacrifice to absolve
the world of its sins. easter is
christ’s resurrection, i would
have told you, had you not left.
but how could tales of return interest
a mind that was quietly hatching a goodbye?

so yeah, this looks made up to me,
and chances are that you still
don’t know what’s easter.
in fact, you don’t need to know.
for this is just about your love
for chocolate-making and nothing more.
this doesn’t work with me: your shitty
show of merrymaking. for i see you
through filters and fast-forwards,
from a place deep within, that at some point
of time had known you for who you were,
before you started to fake: feelings first, festivities now.

how do i know it? oh! c’mon.
wasn’t our courtship just another
enactment of yours? trying love
to substitute the monotony of your life.
you vouched for love, for us,
not knowing the basics of loyalty.
you attempted it like any other
instagram story of yours, only that i
played real in there. what erased
off your timeline in a day,
stayed in my life like a scar for me.
to continue seeing you scar,
many alike me.

- Sobhan