Smoke and Mirrors

It never arrived with a warning sign.
It came dressed as odds that leaned my way,
a friendly knock,
a promise folded neatly in its sleeve.
It spoke in bright reflections,
showed me futures made of glass,
said just one look,
said nothing to lose,
said the lights were finally aligned.
The room filled with smoke,
soft at first, almost kind.
You could still see me through it.
You could still reach my hand.
Or so it seemed.
Mirrors multiplied.
Every truth bent slightly
not enough to notice,
just enough to stay.
Every loss rehearsed as practice,
every lie wearing a grin
that looked like hope from a distance.
I watched love wait by the door
too long.
Watched patience thin to paper,
folded again and again.
Watched your name grow quieter
each time the lights came up empty.
It didn’t steal loudly.
It didn’t shout or strike.
It slipped between moments,
borrowed tomorrow,
promised I could win it back.
By the time the smoke cleared,
what it had taken was never the prize.
It was time.
It was trust.
It was the sound of you laughing
without checking the outcome first,
without wondering what it would cost.
Now the mirrors stand cracked,
their tricks exposed,
and I see what was always real
standing behind me,
not asking for anything back.
Love, still breathing.
Still there.