Unframed

Unframed

For the picture he kept, and the woman who walked away

You kept the photo.

Not the promise.

Not the presence.

Just the photo.

A frozen frame of a life

you never truly lived into,

but still display

as if memory is proof

of meaning.

But I’ve unframed myself.

From your timeline.

From your story.

From your illusion of “us.”

I don’t belong to still images,

to curated smiles that covered

unspoken debts

and quiet despair.

I belong to the now.

To breath.

To fire.

To freedom.

You see a picture.

I see a woman

who outgrew

what she once prayed for.

So keep it,

if it helps you feel

whole by association.

But know this:

I am not

that version

anymore.