I was more than a girl in a song. He made me into “the girl who broke his heart.” Just a woman without a name, with no story beyond the one he gave to me in those few short paragraphs. He barely mentioned me. And I became a footnote. A song to stream. The girl…

I’ve been wondering about how my teenage self would view this life I’ve grown into and made with my own hands.  My teenage self was a mess. Dramatic and unstable. And I know you’re thinking, “oh, so she’s like you… now?” I get it. I get why you’d think that I hadn’t matured or changed…

I mythologize you, and I ache for the same. I made you into dragons, into lilac-eyed elves and sorcerers, into Hades, fauns and even eternal embers. I bleed out onto these pages  and swirl my fingers in the crimson paint,  tracing stars with names that still make my chest ache, even now.  I’m the writer…

I am a faerie woman with sunflowers on her brow, made with patient fingers so that I might have the crown I deserve, though I ask not for worship, only…no. I mustn’t say. Aphrodite running her hands through her hair, laughter like sparks and fireflies in the air. When she twirls beside me, I feel…