You left me behind
with my necklace
crumpled in a box,
a parting gift,
or quiet metaphor.

Once it gleamed,
a thing of grace
made delicate by time
and worn close to my heart.

But in your careless hands,
it twisted
knot by knot,
beauty undone
by what you couldn’t cherish.

I sat for hours,
fine tools trembling,
trying to unmake
the damage you left
a snarl of silver and sorrow.

Now it’s 1 a.m.,
and I’m unraveling too,
threading grief
through every loop of thought:

Was it you?
Was it me?
Did we both tug too hard
on something fragile?

Why did we choose
each other at all,
if neither of us
knew how to love gently?