They Tagged the Restaurant

I saw it twice because the algorithm

decided I needed to understand

that they'd gotten married

at the place we talked about going.

Three years ago we'd said:

"Maybe in the spring, when they open the patio."

We had a note in our phones.

We had a plan that never hardened into an actual date.

In the photo, their arm was looped through someone's—

a person with a smile I don't recognize,

a face that knows the shape of their laugh

in a way I stopped knowing years before I stopped calling.

The caption said: "Finally here."

Not "Here with you" or "Here like we dreamed."

Just "Finally here," like the location was the point,

like the person beside them was just

a pleasant accessory to the moment

they were having without checking if I was coming.

I want to say it stung.

That's not quite true.

What stung was realizing I didn't feel anything

except the faint embarrassment of having cared

about a plan that was never going to survive

the way we didn't.