I Google your name
to see what you've
accomplished since
we were together.
Each indulgent keystroke
an accusation, an act
of burning anticipation to
find some juicy morsel--
something to fuss and
fantasize over.
To wonder is natural,
but to search is shameful.
Hungry for a breadcrumb,
I need to know where
it leads. Are you really
better without me?
Clicking through pages
of tired accolades,
I track your ghost
from room to room.
But the trail goes cold,
there's nothing new--
not a poem, not a photo,
not a trace of you.
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