Kay, But Where Were You?

You wear concern like a costume—
fabricated in front of your bathroom mirror,
rehearsed in the echo chamber of your ego,
pressed and polished before the curtain call.

You tell the world you are the warrior.
The shield.
The saviour.
The only one brave enough to love her right.
You speak in grand gestures and gilded grief—
a script scribbled in self-interest,
a monologue masquerading as memory.

But where were you?

Where were you when she began to decline?
When her sentences curled into questions,
and the corners of her mind began to fold?

Where were you when she started to forget?
When she lost the names of her own fingers,
but remembered your absence with perfect clarity?

Where were you when she needed a place to live?
When the house grew sharp around her,
when her steps no longer trusted the floor beneath them?

Where were you when she supposedly hit her head?
When rumours bloomed and you believed the ones
you planted yourself?

Where were you the January she needed help?
When the cold settled in her bones
and you were just another shadow
cast from the warmth of someone else’s light?

Where were you when she entered care?
When she handed over her independence
like a soldier surrendering a weapon?

Where were you when the world grew too large for her
and her voice too small to reach it?

Why didn’t you know she was being taken advantage of?
Why didn’t you ask?
Why didn’t you call?
Why didn’t you show the fuck up?

But now—now you pound your chest
with performative grief,
crafting narratives like party favours
for any ear that will host your lies.
Now you claim the crown of concern,
as if love is a lineage you inherit,
not a burden you carry.

You say your stories like sermons,
but the math doesn’t add up.
Not all your versions can be true.
It’s a funny little circus, really—
watching you bend the laws of time and logic
to centre yourself in every scene.

It’s almost laughable.
How you dress up abandonment in devotion,
as if we’ll forget what neglect wears under the surface.
You weren’t her hero.
You weren’t even there.
You just play one now—on the stage you built
from the ashes of your own indifference.

And the rest of us?
We remember.