The Echo of Four Rejection

I built my love a fragile, hopeful thing, Despite the knowing: your heart belonged to him. Four times I spoke, four times I heard the sting, Of your rejection, cool and stark and dim. I should have stopped, but foolish hope held tight, Believing the truest faith would change the tide. Then his departure plunged you into night, And you ran back to where your comfort died. To win him back, you offered up the proof That I was nothing, a commodity. In a voice note, beneath your own sad roof, You said: “I turned him down—four times, you see.” That private sorrow, that desperate trade, Was seized by him, made public for a laugh. My deepest wound was instantly displayed, My hopeful love cut sharply into half. My secret ache became a public sight, A trending joke among the peers we know. My heart is shattered, empty of its light, Not by your 'No,' but by the cruel, final show. The deepest cut is that my love, defined, Was used as evidence you needed less— A currency of kindness you declined, Then, I spent to buy back his forgetfulness.