Locks and Love Bombs.

He was never Love. He was power dressed up as romance, ego disguised as passion. From the start, he needed to control, to consume, to own. Intensity disguised as devotion.

The apartment was supposed to be shared. Instead it became his stage. Every wall carried his voice, his rules, his moods. She lived inside his storm, walking on eggshells just to keep the peace. He made her too much and not enough at the same time - too loud when she laughed, too opinionated when she spoke, not soft enough, not submissive enough. He wanted her dimmed, smaller, silent.

Then came the lock. The sharp click of metal turned the home into a cage. Controlled only by him. He would turnthe key like he owned not just the apartment, but her body, her time, her freedom. She reached for the door, and found it sealed. He sat smugly, as if trapping her was normal, as if caging her was acceptable.

It was the protection he’d dressed it up as to the locksmith. it was power. A narcissist doesn’t want a partner he wants a possession. She didn't scream, She didn't beg, She looked at him and the spell of years passed shattered. Love doesn't lock doors, love doesn't strip choice. Not a protector, a captor.

Unlocking it two days later he believed he’d won. Her defiance to leave to see her family gone. He’d won. He believed she’d stay - like always, smaller, quieter, controlled. but the lock was the last straw. She walked out, no fight, no goodbye. Just picked up her dog and left. He didn't deserve words. Only her absence.

The truth written everywhere. the constant belittling disguised as Jokes. the punishments for independence. the eye rolls, the sighs, the sneers, the tantrums and tears. every red flag undeniable now. Survival isn’t love. Endurance isn’t love. Cruelty is never love.

Loneliness lived in that apartment long before the lock. Loneliness sat between them on the couch, filled the bed, poisoned the air. Being next to him was lonelier than being alone. Alone meant breathing. Alone meant freedom. Alone meant she belonged to herself.

His voice still echoed sometimes, the one that called her too much, too difficult, too loud. But too much only meant he couldn’t contain her. He never could.

A prison, replaced Love bombs destroyed by locked doors.