I close the door and say goodbye — goodbye to a now-empty house I desperately wanted to make a home.

I close the door and say goodbye — goodbye to the hopes and dreams I clung to, the ones that kept me wanting when the silence was deafening and all I could do was try to sleep as the salt stung my cheeks.

I am not the same girl who first walked through those empty rooms, shimmering light in her eyes, on tiptoes with her arms looped around his neck. That light is long gone, replaced by the shell of a woman I barely recognize — always too much, yet never enough.

I close the door and drive, catching my breath as the familiar sting hits my cheeks, grieving the life that could have been.

Then, I unlock and open the door to acceptance — a new start, and tiny paws at my feet.

I’ve always been the villain in my own story,
so it doesn’t come as a surprise
that I’m the villain in yours too.

I tried so hard to play the part of the princess—
the one who needed to be saved—
but that’s not me,
and it never will be.

Princesses spent their childhoods
playing in flower fields,
laughing in the sunlight,
and being crowned prom queen.

Not villains.

We spent our days walking on eggshells,
tiptoeing through shadows,
giving pieces of ourselves away—
desperate to know what it feels like
to shimmer in the sunlight
instead of burn.

I should have given more of myself to you,
deciphered your unspoken language sooner.
But like a true villain,
I gave everything I could to you,
changed what I could for you—
all in the name of making love last,
even if deep down
I knew it never would.

Because in the end,
the prince always slays the villain
to chase the princess.

Matching outfits on a cruise / Extra butter on the popcorn at the movies / Texas Roadhouse dates / Hugs and Kisses when I get home/ Lazy Sunday mornings / Taylor Swift karaoke nights / Game nights / Family Dinners / Just because you can do it doesn’t mean you have to / I saw this and thought of you / Memes that make me laugh/ Beaches over Mountains / apologies and change / Pillow talk / To know and be known/ someone who never makes me question / Someone who stays.

They say April is a month of rebirth, a month of healing.
What a lie. April is a *****—a wolf in sheep’s clothing—giving you just enough hope that you can stop and smell the roses, only for it to unzip its outer skin, forcing a thorn to strike you in the eye.
They say death comes in threes, but they don’t tell you that April’s showers of misfortune come tenfold, never ceasing, leaving you gasping for air.
Eventually, the storm will stop, as it always does, and I’ll be there in fields of wildflowers, soaking up the sun. After all, I’m good—just a little tired.

I want to write a poem for you, a lighthearted one full of morning breath kisses after late nights of bodies intertwined. One worthy enough to be quoted in wedding vows. Except I haven’t had a good night’s rest since the second of December, and the salt has left permanent tracks on my cheeks. My glass heart is glued together with Taylor Swift and therapy sessions, cautiously breathing through the memories anticipating the shatter. One day I’ll write a carefree poem, only it will be about me.

Maybe tomorrow I will wake up from this nightmare.
Maybe tomorrow you’ll tell me you’re sorry.
Maybe tomorrow you’ll want me back.
Maybe tomorrow I won’t cry.
Maybe tomorrow the air won’t be so thick.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll get some sleep.
Maybe tomorrow the smiles won’t be forced.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll hate you.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll forget the memories.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll delete the photos of us.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready to move on.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be happy.
Maybe tomorrow I won’t love you.

-L.H.

*******! I scream into the air as the tears are rolling down my cheeks, I didn’t say it 21 days ago, but I’m saying it now! ******* for making me fall for you, I was happy before you came along and now I can’t go a day without a dull ache in my chest always reminding me of the hole I keep trying to patch.
Sometimes I wonder what the point was, why come into my life if you were just gonna walk away? So ******* and whatever good intentions you think you may have had, I just want to go back to before I knew about you and tasted a sample of what we could have been.