Endings in Small Print

An email flashes—my heart feels the strain,

'Your subscription has been canceled,' it reads.

A mundane farewell, yet it echoes like pain,

as shadows of choices grow tall like the weeds.

I sift through the clutter, receipts I don’t keep,

each line a reminder of things I outgrew.

That coffee I once loved, now buried in sleep,

just dregs in a cup—where’s the joy that it drew?

The budget lays bare all the small things I’ve lost,

like moments that mattered, drifting away.

What happens to passion, when price is the cost?

These endings in small print make me want to stay.