it started in a dorm
as a rating game.
hot or not.
worth a click
or forgettable.

and it never grew out of that.

the book of faces was never about friends.
it was about faces.
names.
connections that could be counted,
sorted,
sold.

you gave it your birthday.
your job.
your crush.
it gave you a feed
that changed
while you weren’t looking.

you were the content.
so was your grief.
so was your wedding.
so was your fight.

every like
was a breadcrumb.
every tag
a thread.

they stitched you together
until you became
predictable.

they called it social.
but it fed on division.
outrage spread faster
than love.
and that was good
for business.

now it's older.
now it's tired.
but the archive is deep.
your youth lives there.
your ghosts.
your messages to the wrong people.

you could leave,
but it remembers.
and it doesn’t need
your permission
to keep your face
in the book.