Wrong, Still Holding On

The coffee cools beside me,

stale as my stubborn breath.

I taste failure in every sip,

knew the fault all along,

but still, I clung.

Words sharper than knives,

stuck in the thin air

between us, twisting,

tight and unforgiving.

I was wrong, every bone a witness,

but letting go felt colder,

so I held on,

despite the cracks,

despite the cost.