What I Burned to Set Myself Free
Two weeks ago I turned thirty, and on my birthday I set fire to the remains of my ex. Don’t worry, I’m not a lunatic, and he’s still alive. I fuelled a roaring log burner with all the memories and things he gave to me over the duration of our relentless on-off relationship. It was more than a symbolic cleansing — it was a reckoning. Because looking back, I see now how much I tolerated. How much I excused. How much I didn't see for what it truly was: manipulation dressed as romance. Gaslighting cloaked in charm.
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