Fireproofed by Fck-It Energy.*
I didn’t burn it in rage.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t even flinch.
I burned it in joy.
In relief.
In the sacred, slow-motion sparkle of watching codependency go up like cheap hairspray in a bonfire.
There were no warnings.
No farewell speeches.
Just me, a Bic lighter, and a smirk so smug it should’ve been arrested for arson.
“Bye forever, Ned.”
I whispered it like a spell.
A love spell reversed, with marshmallows.
And then?
I laughed.
Not a cackle. A cleanse.
The kind of laugh that clears lungs and trauma at the same time.
The kind of laugh that says,
“I finally chose me. And damn, I’m funny when I’m free.”
People asked:
“But what if you need to cross that bridge again?”
Oh honey.
If I’m ever headed back that way?
I’ll take a boat.
A boat made of boundaries, boldness, and blocked numbers.
Rowed by every ghost of the version of me who once begged for scraps at that emotional toll booth.
And I’ll wave.
With a toasted marshmallow in one hand,
A “Not Today, Satan” fan in the other,
And the GPS set to “Anywhere but Backwards.”
Because this time?
I didn’t just survive the fallout—
I catered it.
With s’mores, glitter, and receipts.
And if they ever try to rebuild?
Tell ‘em I went full fire marshal.
That bridge is not under construction. It’s a f*cking museum exhibit now.
Titled:
“Here Lies The Last Time I Betrayed Myself For Someone Else’s Comfort.”
I Lit My Last Bridge With a Laugh
They said, “Don’t burn it.” I said, “Watch.”
Laughed as I tossed the match like scotch.
No tears, just flame and one big cheer—
That bridge? A bonfire souvenir.
Now I roast marshmallows mid-stride,
Toasting the past with blistered pride.
Turns out freedom smells like smoke—
And ash makes great punchlines when you choke.
—The Funny Phoenix, making s’mores out of scorched exits
