Villains

Villains aren’t born; they’re made—

shaped by old wounds, often forged in heartbreak,

certain their cruelty is self-preservation.

And we are both villains in our story.

Me—

the wounded woman who couldn’t trust,

who saw betrayal in every glance,

scrutinized every word, every move,

turning love into suspicion.

You—

the guarded man who withheld affection,

carrying old fears you wouldn’t share,

who wore his feelings quietly,

a fortress around your heart.

I’m counting the hours until our anniversary celebration.

We loved each other

like two enemies who couldn’t call a truce,

too relentless to surrender,

too proud to forgive,

each convinced the damage was deserved.

Both too broken to realize

that every win

was a loss.

And now I blame you,

and you blame me,

for the destruction of We.