Better

Summertime sadness vibes.

You called me ‘better’
that night you refused to sleep
until morning stars found us awake.

You called me ‘better’.
With cigarette breath.
Brown, judgmental eyes.
Bitter wine lips.

Still tasting of someone else.

You called me ‘better’.
Like I didn’t see
the parts you hid
from everyone else.

I hated how you refused
to use my true name.

I hated even more how easily
I forgot what it was.

Cold sweat.
Lowered gaze.
My wedding ring
on the pile of chips.

You called me ‘better’.
Like you knew
the game was fixed.
Like you knew
I'd lose anyway.

You whispered—
“Those pocket aces you woke up with?
It’s not about the cards you’re dealt.
Just how you play your hand.”

So I cut back—
”I wasn’t the soot
that blackened the spades.
I wasn’t the blood
that made hearts seem real.”

You kept calling me ‘better’.
Until breeze swept sand
across empty boardwalks.
Until the streets forgot
the sound of footsteps.
Until seagulls flew
somewhere warm.

Until we went different ways.
Not sharing numbers.
Not promising letters.
Not kissing farewells.

Just two cold sides of the bed.
Empty glass on the floor.

You called me ‘better’.
In that cursed beach town,
where another summer quietly drowned.

source

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