The night you left, I swore the sky was wrong.

Not one sad violin, no sorrowful song.

Instead, a crash—a sound like shattered glass—

That's when I knew your "forever" wouldn't pass.

You packed your things. A messy, hurried flight.

You said our love was fading, losing light.

I stood there, darling, leaned against the door,

And watched the future I’d imagined, hit the floor.

It wasn't a slow demise, or gentle drift;

It was the grand, spectacular, cosmic rift.

Every perfect promise, every tiny dream,

Fell down in chunks, like some forgotten stream.

I didn't cry. I simply grabbed a broom,

And swept the stellar fragments from the room.

I bagged up the delusion, the hopes, and all the lies,

And recycled them for better, newer skies.

Now I look up and see the lovely, dark expanse,

No dazzling, fool-me stars to lead my lonely dance.

Just cold, clear space. And frankly, it's quite nice.

I learned my lesson: don't look up twice.

The stars didn't fall because of tragic fate;

They fell because I kicked them off the plate.

I'm not waiting for a sign. I'm not wishing on a spark.

I’m perfectly happy ruling my own dark.