The comforting scent of laundry now wafts around my tiny studio apartment.
The comforting scent of laundry now wafts around my tiny studio apartment.
You interlaced the fingers of your life with a hand that wasn’t mine.
“Ah, a place of our own,” I thought. “This is a space where I feel safe.”
“Hindsight is 20/20.”
In case you think you need closure, consider this instead: What you think might be closure is just another pretty ideal in your head.
And you’ll lie there, and you’ll lie to yourself.
But as the saying goes, “Actions speak louder than words,” and now your words are mere whispers from the past.
It’s you. My legs remain on the floor, but my soul jumps.
Take your story back. Write yourself a new one that leads to a very different end.
I'd crumple up the inked paper, tear it into confetti, and celebrate the end of six years.
2010: I moved to New York.
My dearest Friend Charming, I’ve told you this before. But when I met you, I thought you were charming. Too charming. “Are you just another Prince Charming? Eager to add to your extensive list of spared princesses and damsels in distress?”
When I was a little girl, I asked my parents if their eyes turned to hearts when they met each other.
Love is not mere passion. Love is not always romantic.
This is above and beyond open bar.
Get comfortable. Fight. Make up.
It’s too far away for you to tell if this person is walking towards you or away from you. You continue to walk.
Thank you for the heartbreak. I learned that I can rebuild myself without you.
I really did care for you deeply and love you.
“Your prince charming will arrive, save the day, and complete you in ways you always thought were missing before you met him.”