Trapdoor

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You didn’t wait for the bottom to drop—you chose it. Led me to the trapdoor like the fall was something you owned. Held the switch with shaking hands, then swore you never meant it—same pattern, new lifetime, same prophecy you prevented.

I hit ground hard, but it didn’t erase me. It woke the ancient part that survives through centuries. I clawed out with my heartbeat glitching, mind stitching the lies you kept switching, realizing I loved you in a way your soul was never built for living.

You didn’t fall back for space—you fell back from the truth. Every life we’ve ever lived I’ve carried both halves of the proof. You run from the mirror, I face what’s mine. You ghost the moment growth hits—I rise every time.

I DON’T BREAK. I rise from ruins you thought would erase me. Dragged through fire you lit in my chest—now the flames you sparked are the ones that amaze me. YOU DON’T GROW. You shatter then blame everyone you know. Call it fate, call it fear—but your wounds still show. Running from the work won’t make the cycle go. I DON’T BEND. Won’t snap my spine just to hold you again. You took what was whole then abandoned the end—ghosting the moment my truth didn’t bend.

I carried you through lifetimes again and again. Held the vows you abandoned, I was both lover and friend. You hid from every promise I kept trying to mend—but I won’t walk your circle again and again.

Break the vow. End the line. Close the door. Reclaim time. Debt repaid. Thread undone. Cycle closed. It is done. Not again, not again, not again.

We made vows before this lifetime—you know that’s true. I waited at the doorway alone, torch steady, waiting for you. Held the rings for safe keeping, trusted destiny’s hand—while you spun lies from Rumpelstiltskin’s web of sin, hoping the thread would hold me instead of the truth I began.

I wasn’t trapped—I was loyal. Loved you across ages, carried weight you avoided, raised your third-born like he was mine, finished the tasks you forfeited, paid debts that were never evenly divided.

Now the ledger is balanced. The cycle is closed. You gave me broken vows—I turned them into growth. Keep your stories, your shadows, your foundations that fall. I’m done shrinking to fit your half-built walls.

This lifetime ends the loop. This contract dissolves for real. The passcode was written in braille—and your fingers never learned how to reach for something real.