From rose-tinted glasses, to see through holes

The embers hissed in the hearth, sending pale curls of smoke twisting toward the cracked ceiling. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burned paper and regret. I inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke coil around my lungs like a serpent, as my heartbeat steadied from its once-frantic pounding. At my side sat the spectre of my younger self—wide-eyed, raw, and trembling—her tears catching the firelight in glistening rivulets.

“We’ve climbed a mountain of grief,” I murmured, voice low and steady, “from worshipping a callous boy to forging peace in his absence. And here you were convinced you couldn’t breathe without him.” I glanced at her—her hands twisted in her lap—then returned my gaze to the flickering flames. “Oh, sweet girl, how love blinds even the keenest hearts.”

She whipped around, anguish contorting her face. “Calmly? You speak as if I didn’t want him, to the point of madness! I loved him. I wanted him to choose me! Why—why couldn’t he?” Her words tumbled out in a crescendo of anguish, her sobs punctuating each exclamation. “Why wasn’t I enough?!”

I reached for her trembling hand, but paused midair. The moment belonged to her. “Because, darling, you were too good for him,” I finally said, voice almost a whisper. “You craved a love he couldn’t give. A boy who pretends at devotion but hasn’t tasted its weight will never know how to hold a heart.” I let my words drift into the smoke-choked room and pressed my palm against my own chest. “I’ve carried that hollow ache for four years.”

She staggered back, pain etching deeper lines into her youthful face. “Four years?” she repeated, disbelief lacing her tone. “Four years to heal, while he moved on in a day. A week at most. In a week, he found someone else to fill your place. That kills me—knowing I was tossed aside like roadside litter.”

I closed my eyes, letting that truth burn through me again. “Of course, it killed me. When he cheated more times than I can count, when he whispered sweet nothings to another woman on our anniversary—that killed me. When he carved our vows into sand and watched them wash away—that killed me. But what could I do? Beg harder? Plead louder? When love poisoning tastes so sweet, you drink it until it scorches your throat.”

She sank to her knees. “I begged. I prayed. I cried rivers for him. I wrote him letters with trembling hands. I stained the pages with tears—each one begging him to stay. And for what? So he could kiss someone else where my lips once lay? So he could laugh with someone else at jokes we shared? Was my heart just an amuse‑bouche until he found the main course?”

My throat tightened. Memories spiralled: the nights spent clutching my pillow, the frantic texts at dawn, the perfumed invitation to his new flame. I exhaled slowly. “We were his side scrapes,” I murmured. “Disposable. Waiting for the moment he no longer cared to carry us.”

She looked up, eyes vacant. “So after all that—hedging skin like a snake to slip away—we amounted to nothing. Four years of devotion, wasted on a half‑baked promise.” She let out a hysterical laugh, a sound that fractured my heart. “Rose‑colored glasses, my ass. They were damn rose‑tinted illusions.”

I knelt beside her. “And yet, we chose to look through them. We conspired with our naïveté, convincing ourselves that devotion would force him to change. We ignored the red flags—his evasive glances, the unexplained absences, the laughter that wasn’t ours.” I brushed ash from the hearth. “We were complicit in our own downfall.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Pathetic,” she whispered. “Desperate. Clinging to a myth.” The fire sputtered, sending sparks dancing toward the rafters.

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s funny now, isn’t it? How love can transform you into a caged animal, willing to claw at the bars for a taste of affection.” I offered her a faint, wry smile. “Why did you ever fall for him?”

She lifted her head, staining her hands with tears. “I don’t know. One look was all it took. His smile, his eyes—they were an invitation to something brighter than my own shadow.” She let out a soft laugh. “I was so hungry for love.”

I stood and walked to the hearth, tracing the charred edges of half‑burnt letters. “And now?” I asked her, my voice echoing off the blackened walls.

She rose to her feet, as if drawn by some lingering warmth. “Now I see the poison for what it was,” she said, turning to face me. “I see the hollow beneath his promises, the emptiness in his gaze when I begged him to stay.”

I nodded, folding my arms. “That’s peace. Not the absence of pain, but the presence of clarity.” I paused, taking in the smoke‑stained room—the burned scripts of our past. “We’re not side scraps anymore. We’re entire, unbroken, and unafraid to walk away.”

Tears glimmered in her eyes, but they held something new: steel. “I’d give anything to have that time back,” she whispered. “To feel strong like this from the start.”

I smiled gently. “But you wouldn’t be you without those scars. They taught you to love yourself first.” I stepped closer, placing my hand over her heart. “Love doesn’t heal when it’s earned; it heals when you reclaim yourself.”

She exhaled slowly, smoke swirling between us like a veil. “And him?” she asked, voice quiet.

I turned away from the ashes, looking instead at the moonlight filtering through a cracked window. “Let him fade into the smoke. We’ve learned that some fires aren’t meant to warm us—they’re meant to burn away what no longer serves.”

She nodded, a fragile smile blossoming. “Then let’s light a new fire,” she said, voice steady. “One we build ourselves.”

I reached for her hand at last. “One forged from our own strength,” I agreed. “No smoke or mirrors.” Together we stood, the past smouldering behind us. And for the first time in years, I felt my heart beat unguarded, ready to love without fear.