The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

Not out of spite. Not to prove anything to you.
But in devotion to myself.
To the girl who used to whisper dreams into the dark,
and to the woman who now speaks them aloud,
without apology.

I used to trace your absence like a scar.
Now I wear it like a medal.
Proof that I endured.
Proof that I evolved.
Proof that I stopped waiting to be chosen—
because I choose myself, every single time.

I’ve built altars from the broken pieces.
Lit candles with my own fire.
Danced in the ruins and planted gardens there.
You were the storm.
I am the aftermath—
lush, wild, untamed.

This isn’t a love letter.
It’s not a lament.
It’s a celebration.
Of silence that taught me to listen.
Of solitude that taught me to sing.
Of your leaving, which led me home.

So thank you.
Not for the pain.
But for the space it carved.
Because in that space, I found myself.
And I grew wings.

I’m not writing this to send.
I’m writing this to remember.
To honor the woman I’ve become.
To say, finally and fully:
I exist.
Without you.
And I am more than enough.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis