Why didn’t you feel safe in her home?

Echos of that question lingers in the girls mind,
even after their paths had long split,
off to fight their own battles.

What walls did she build
That made you hesitate to stay?
What shadows danced here
to make you look away?

Your words crushed the girl—
a confession she didn’t know she feared,
a wound she couldn’t see before it became chronic.

She had always wanted this place to be their haven,
a space where comfort blooms and they could be free to bask in each other’s carefree wonder.

She told you she didn’t like compliments
a shield she wore
hiding her distrust of others words.

Deep down, she longed for his persistence,
His patience to show her the mirror
of how he saw her,
to make her believe in what she couldn’t see.

She used to test you,
not realizing the cracks it carved
into trust she swore was solid.

She was naïve,
chasing moments of play,
fumbling through the chaos of first loves,
blind to the damage she left behind,
Damage she would never be able to heal.

She desperately waited for him
to charge into the storm of her mind
and save her from herself.

He had already fallen,
struck by the arrow she unknowingly shot—
meant to carry her love,
yet veiled in her fear and doubt.

She is always the architect of her own ruin,
the weaver of her own undoing,
the main character in a tragedy
she never meant to write,
but always knew by heart.