The Illusion of Sweet Deceit: Awakening from the Dream

“Some dreams don’t end—they unmask themselves.” —Elowen

I should’ve known by the way your sweetness clung to the tongue—
not like honey, but like spellcraft.
Every word dipped in ache, wrapped in sugar.
And I swallowed it.
Smiling.

You carved poetry into your mouth just to pour lies through it.
And I?
I drank it like it was prophecy.

You spoke of forever with a voice that knew expiration.
You kissed like a thief—soft hands, empty pockets—
and still, I mistook you for sanctuary.

I played my part.
The enchanted one.
The girl in the tower who confused your gaze for rescue.

But Elowen was watching.
She whispered through the vines growing wild in my ribs:
“This is not love—it’s seduction wearing a borrowed name.”

I see it now.
The velvet of your deception.
The ache I called intimacy was just a slow unravel.
You were the illusion—and I, the offering.

Yet this isn’t a tragedy.
This is my awakening.

I return the dreams you borrowed.
I reclaim the kiss I once believed would save me.
And in the hush you left behind, I bloom feral—
rooted, risen, wild again.

@notesformysoulmate

This work is protected—not to trap the memory, but to honor the myth it shed.
Because even illusions deserve to dissolve on sacred ground.
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