you said.

i believed you, and you weren't even the only one.
you talked about how i filled a vacancy and with hope.
i could wake up flattened and dried all wrong, and still
you never admitted that you were just a figment.
you never spooled up on the projection room floor.
you never hissed at the end of your final song,
intermittently puffing with no sound to release
despite the perpetual spinning.
i believed you, with your hand on my heart
and talking about being lost in nameless cities,
talking about being old and storied.
your hands on my face, watching your tear pass down your cheek
titled: "this would be years and decades"; still framed.

i'm fairly sure it happened, and it's simple to never be fragile again.