Blank Page in the Album

The album sits heavy on my lap,

pages curling like forgotten promises.

One page left empty, pale and bare,

a wedding that never happened.

No dress folded in silk, no vows

etched in trembling ink.

Just dust and shadows

where joy was meant to bloom.

I trace the empty frame,

wonder if the moment was ever real,

a story paused,

a breath held too long.

The photos blur around the edges,

and I sit with the absence,

a guest at a party that never began.