The fact that I am still on Facebook
& that I even noticed
or that fact that I am writing this is ridiculous enough—
But what a 2011, 8th grade move you have made here, dude.
So I admit I was pissed because I have known you for almost a decade
& I have saved your ass more than once
& was a real fucking friend to you.
& don’t you think there would be better ways
to express your beef towards me?

I tried to picture you, picturing me the moment I could no longer see your posts—

But maybe this was giving you too much credit.
Perhaps you were only thinking of yourself--
(No surprise here)
Cutting my updates
(that you never liked/cared/loved anyway)
out of your universe
because their positivity caused you too much pain.

I admit— I thought about calling you to tell you how much this ghosting hurt me—

But you, my unfriend, have given me a gift
of not looking at your reposted nihilist memes,
YouTube clips of Swedish 80’s metal bands,
emo rants about how your life sucks
& how you lost your muse
& your job is unbearable
& it’s always a good time to quit
but you still have your cats
& you pretend that no one has ever cared about you
on post after post after post after post after post after post
that never get more than 3 likes & a few token hearts.

Victoria Nordlund's poetry collection Wine-Dark Sea was published by Main Street Rag in June 2020. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee, whose work has appeared in PANK Magazine, Rust+Moth, Chestnut Review, Pidgeonholes, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. Visit her at VictoriaNordlund.com