The Polished Art of Nonchalance

 

I speak the word that bends the air—
"No," a whisper, sharp yet fair.
It falls like glass upon the ground,
A single syllable, a breaking sound.

But he just smiles, makes no sound,
As if my voice were never found.
No storm behind those steady eyes,
No crack, no flare, no sharp replies.

Just laughter light, a careless grin,

As if my silence never sinks in.
A shrug that says it doesn't matter,
Easy words, dismissive chatter.

How simple men can turn away,
Like tides that never choose to stay.
A joke, a glance, a practiced ease—
The polished art of nonchalance disease.

I watch him wear indifference well,
A spell that even he can't tell
Is armor forged from ancient shame,
From every time he lost the game.

For I have seen that quiet art,
The way it shields a tender heart.
A fortress built of calm and charm,
To keep the world from doing harm.

Each "fine" a brick, each laugh a stone,
Each casual tone is a wall he's grown.
The years have taught him how to stand
With empty palms and a steady hand.

He wears his ease like tailored clothes,
A perfect fit that no one knows
Was stitched from nights of lying still,
From swallowing each bitter pill.

Beneath the seams that never show,
The fabric frays with hidden woe.
But pride won't let the truth appear—
He'd rather bleed than shed a tear.

So let him laugh, let him pretend
That words don't cut, that wounds don't mend.
Let him perform his careless part,
The cool indifference of his art.

For in the silence, deep and stark,
Between his smile and my remark,
Lives all the weight he'll never name—
The mask of ease conceals the flame.

And I am left to hold alone
The No I spoke, the truth I've shown.
While he walks on, untouched, unmarred,
Carrying burdens twice as hard.

And still I wonder—was it me?
Or is this how he learned to be?
To turn his back, to guard his core,
To never knock on feelings' door.

Perhaps his calm is winter's frost,
A season gained, a warmth long lost.
Perhaps his ease is ocean deep,
Where secrets drown and shadows sleep.

And so we part—his mask intact,
My heart is still raw from our contact.
Two actors on a wordless stage,
Both prisoners of pride and cage.