I found the invitation crumpled and worn

I found the invitation, crumpled and worn,

a ghost of a wedding that never was born.

Dust on the edges, like hopes left to fade,

it whispers of choices that love never made.

A laugh echoes soft in the chambers of time,

a friend’s voice reminiscing, all bittersweet rhyme.

We spoke of our dreams over coffee and wine,

but life took its turn, crossed the lines of design.

I clutch this old paper, a promise unmet,

a road not taken, the sun hasn’t set.