Break me like a promise

Just yesterday, for about two hours, I almost didn’t think of you. 

Then I sat in the bar holding in my hands the pain
of not being able to share photos of my cocktail. 
(Isn’t it funny, the things that hurt?  I want to share
my Monday mornings, my bargain buys,
the scent of petrichor, a photo of my Christmas tree.)
I tell them both, my best friends, about you
and my pain, and for the first time in weeks
I can say your name almost steadily. 
I do not cry.

This time, I really believed it is over. 
We both placed all our cards on the table.
I may be Queen, but not of hearts,
at least not of yours. 
Even the best contract in a minor suit
is trumped by hearts. 

The name on my screen, 
my heart skips a beat,
as you blow softly on the embers of hope
I’d hoped to extinguish.

I consider not opening it at all.
I try to wait.
I open it and now,
now I cry.