I Could Write My Question On A Page

I could write my question on a page,
But how my heart will bear the stage?
The sorrow it feels, so deep and vast,
Will it hold steady, or break at last?

Something feels strange, a shift, a change,
The present feels so far, so estranged.
No longer the same, this moment of mine,
A shadow of what was once divine.

He won’t look back, not even once,
His rise so great, my fall immense.
Why should he see, why should he care,
When his triumphs soar beyond compare?

Silence feels like the better way,
For my worth won’t matter, come what may.
He’ll never see a spark in me,
No brilliance, no rarity.

How can I offer something great,
When none of my deeds hold such weight?
No act of mine stands out so tall,
No feat of mine feels unique at all.

I admit, though softly so,
The truth I know but won’t let show.
He’s no longer mine, I cannot deny,
Even my heart sighs, "Why even try?"

A thought returns, again and again,
Why would he care, why would he remain?
Why would he hold a memory dear,
Of a love that’s faded year by year?