she walks into the bar
like the world owes her something.
he looks at her
like he’s already won.
two mirrors crashing,
no reflection.
he speaks loud,
thinks volume means power.
she smiles over her shoulder,
thinks ignoring is control.
but they’re both fucked,
broken inside,
and pride is just cheap plaster
over shattered bone.
they think they’re special,
one of a kind,
irreplaceable.
as if pride could keep you warm
in an empty bed.
she won’t lower her gaze.
he won’t drop his guard.
and so the night goes on:
a war without bullets,
a dance without touch,
a game no one wins.
in the end,
there’s no victory,
no conquest,
just two souls
that could’ve touched
but chose instead
to win a fight
that meant nothing.
because pride,
my friend,
is just fear
in heels or a tie.
About the Creator
Javier
My name is Javier, and I find inspiration in every story people share with me. From their words, poems and tales are born, written with passion,
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