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Women are like flowers.

You water them, tend to them, believing one day they might wrap around you that their roots might intertwine with yours. But that’s not always how it goes. Sometimes the very flower you nurtured starts longing to bloom in someone else’s soil. Selfish, isn’t it? Yet how could you tell if what you were feeding was beauty… or venom.

If everything were simple, people wouldn’t chase what they can’t keep. You learn to draw lines to cut away what was never truly yours, no matter how much it once felt like it was. They say men don’t love deeply, or that they never mean it. Truth is… you never notice the exact moment we stop trying.

Picture a white wall. One you’ve painted over and over, built your world around until one day, you paint it black. You watch the light fade, and you wait, almost foolishly, for it to return. That’s what selfishness is believing you can destroy something and still expect warmth from its ashes.

I don’t stay in stories I no longer believe in. But until I leave, it always looks like I’m still there quiet, steady, convincing. When I finally walk away, it feels unfair… but maybe that’s how love works. It gives, it takes, and in the end, it devours itself leaving only silence where it once burned.