Lilly Frazier Poetry

It was date number four, and I showed up late,
Because apparently timing determines your fate.
You opened the door with a grin on your face,
And said, “Fashionably late?”—with remarkable grace.

We dined and we drank, each enjoying the night,
Trading sips, teasing jokes, and good-natured delight.
We raised up our glasses and toasted, “To us!”
Then spilled half a drink—no need to discuss.

Back at your place, we were laughing away,
Trading cheap little insults like lovers at play.
I teased you, you teased me, the flirting was strong,
I thought, Well, surely this evening can’t possibly go wrong.

We kissed, and the mood turned romantic and bright,
Like date number four might be going just right.
Then suddenly something went terribly wrong,
And the warmth of the moment was completely gone.

Your mood took a turn that I hadn’t foreseen,
And suddenly nothing felt playful or sweet.
Finally, you let go, breaking the spell,
While I was left thinking, Well, what in the hell?

I glanced at the cross by the side of your bed,
And wondered what thoughts had gone through your head.
How could someone hang it so proudly in view,
Then act in a way that betrayed what it knew?

So much for that evening, the laughter, the wine,
The hope that perhaps you and I might align.
Four dates, two dinners, one story untold,
One silence that settled where warmth used to hold.

I’ve replayed that night more times than I should,
Still wishing I’d understood if I only could.
Perhaps there are reasons you couldn’t let show,
Or battles you carried I’d never quite know.

So I’ll leave this chapter with questions instead,
Not anger, but echoes of words left unsaid.
And somewhere, I hope, when the time feels right,
You’ll tell me what happened that changed you that night.