I fell in love with a villain,
draped in white clothing
and adorned with medals.
I fell for the knight,
the one who endured much
just to save me from hell.
I didn’t know, though,
he was made of glass;
fragile and entirely false.
I thanked the heavens for him;
jumped into his arms
without any hesitation.
I watched as he tended to me,
promising to heal wounds
and make me whole again.
I let him dress me in promises
and decorate me with kindness.
I followed his every move,
trusting him to guide me
through hallways I’d been lost in.
I clung to him as he did me,
sharing a secret kind of love
others only dreamed of having.
I gave him the keys to the castle,
let him roam the rooms inside,
and told him to make a home there.
I waited for him to settle in
and start building a life together,
like we had always talked about.
But the glass image he held fell
and shattered all around me,
cutting me up and drawing blood.
I watched as my hero walked away,
taking the arm of another damsel
as he exited the wooden doors.
I fell in love with the blue-eyed villain
who was adorned in wicked glass,
and drove a dagger into my chest.
And though I keep the doors locked,
refusing to let another in now,
I think I still love my false knight.
How incredibly sad is that?