She Saves Herself In This One…

I lie on the bed that I made for myself.

How does a romantic hate romance?
Slowly, steadily. One night at a time.

Ever since I was introduced to the idea of love, I put myself to sleep in the arms of heroes.
They weren’t handsome. They were brave. Men who had character. And integrity. Who knew themselves, sure, aware of who they were.
No they weren’t handsome. They were as real as heroes can be in a made-up world.

Missed trains, failed deadlines, raging fires, crazy demons- what could they not save me from.
I even led myself to believe I fell in love with one.

I failed. He failed. We failed.
We must have, for at some point I stopped dreaming of being rescued by heroes- one or various how does it matter.
The imaginary hero didn’t turn out real. They never do.
And it is only fair. Why must someone else shoulder the burden of your expectations.

After years I realized last night.

Romance is for novels. Romance is dead. The stories that we tell ourselves.

No one saves you. You save yourself. The only hero you need, the only hero you have been waiting for is- yourself.

2 thoughts on “She Saves Herself In This One…

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