I Google your name to see what you've accomplished since we were together. Each indulgent keystroke an accusation, an act of burning anticipation to find some juicy morsel-- something to fuss and fantasize over. To wonder is natural, but to search is shameful. Hungry for a breadcrumb, I need to know where it leads. Are you really better without me? Clicking through pages of tired accolades, I track your ghost from room to room. But the trail goes cold, there's nothing new-- not a poem, not a photo, not a trace of you.