The Seven-Year Itch Made Him Cheat

The Seven-Year Itch Made Him Cheat

He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

A restless pulse lived under his shirt, and I knew.

Seven years of love, they said, of loyalty, of faith.

And still, desire found a crack and slipped inside.

I heard the lie before he spoke it aloud.

It was in the way his hand lingered too long elsewhere.

Trust crumbled quietly between the sheets and laughter.

Seven years became a cage with doors left open.

I do not ask why, I do not plead.

Betrayal speaks for itself in silence and absence.

Love can be strong, but desire is crueler.

Seven years end, not in love, but in truth.

The room that held laughter now echoes my steps.

I remember the warmth, the small promises, the lies.

Time moves on, relentless, leaving scars that sting.

And I stand alone, knowing some fires cannot return.

I trace the shadows where he once stood.

The walls remember what I cannot forget.

Every glance, every touch now feels distant.

I hold only the hollow where love once lived.

The years have passed, but the ache remains.

I am stronger now, tempered by what I lost.

Desire may have faltered, but I endure.

Seven years ended, yet I am still here.