The Crack Widens

I found the note today,

folded in a book I haven't read.

Words that claimed you'd stay,

now just things that were said.

It wasn't a loud crack,

no shattering sound.

Just a slow, quiet lack,

where solid ground

used to be.

Now I see it everywhere,

a fine, thin line.

In the cheap kitchen chair,

in the ordinary design

of things.

It’s not going to mend.

It’s just broken, that’s all.

A promise at its end,

waiting for the fall.