No Heroes in This Story

Nobody sets out to be a monster,

but pain teaches you how to sharpen your teeth,

how to use your softness as bait,

shaping us into villains we never meant to be.

I turned suspicion into my superpower,

reading your silences like crimes,

hunting for evidence I was sure you were hiding.

And honestly, part of me wanted to catch you slipping up.

You guarded your heart like a treasure,

acted like love was a weapon I would wield

if you handed it over.

Maybe you weren’t entirely wrong.

We traded secrets for leverage, comfort for control.

Every kiss had an escape route.

We did damage with small gestures —

a withheld answer, an ill-timed silence,

a look that said I know how to cut you.

Villainy at its quietest.

Maybe we both liked it a little —

the power, the push-and-pull,

the way winning an argument was safer than baring our souls.

So you played cold; I played cruel —

calling it strategy, calling it survival.

Whatever it was, we wore our capes inside out.

Now we tell the story like a blame game,

but the truth is we both set the bridge aflame.

Still, something crossed it before it burned —

the quiet habits that made us us,

the moments we chose not to strike,

the intimate times we touched without breaking.

Maybe that’s the part that survives:

not the ending, but the proof that love showed up at all.