French Tarot

4 Players, 1 Missing

You, me, and her.
Around a round table.

Silence attacks without sound.
The air is freezing.

I am in the middle of the two of you—
not by choice,
but as if I was placed here.

Like a card already dealt.

I don’t know why I am here,
or why I have to play this game.

I’m not familiar with any of it.
Not the rules,
not the roles.

The last time I played,
I was in Singapore,
with a bunch of people that night.
Everyone seemed to know the rules—
except me.

I drank my white wine
without joining the conversation.

Back then,
I was just outside the game.

And now—
I am inside it.

But still not part of it.

I didn’t know
you two knew each other
before I arrived.

I was just passing by,
stopping to bring your wine.
That’s when I saw
the way you greeted each other—

familiar,
like a game already played
many times before.

My ex,
and the next card in your hand.

Maybe I was never a player.
Just a card
used to complete the table.

Card 21.
Le Petit.
No connection to me.

A card with no weight.
No history.
No meaning in this round.

Replaceable.

Clearly,
I am just the excuse.

The missing piece
that makes the game possible.

What a role to play.

I wait to be called—
not because I matter,
but because the rules require it.

I want to leave this table.

But the game has already started.

The past sits across from me.
The future sits beside me.

And I—
I am neither.

Three shots in.
I almost want to finish the whole bottle.

Maybe if I blur enough,
I can disappear from this round.

I can’t believe
you two invited me here.

Or maybe—
you didn’t invite me at all.

Maybe I just filled a space
that needed to be filled.

There is nothing wrong with the past.
Nothing wrong with the future either.

But this moment—
this exact arrangement of people,
of timing,
of roles—

feels like a hand
I never chose,

but still have to play.