The Girl Who Was Borrowed: And stop giving it away for free.
- TwoJays MyEye
- Feb 15
- 2 min read
Updated: Apr 5
She does not belong to them.
Not really.
Not in the way they think.
But still, they pull her close.
They drape her across their days, mostly evenings,
the stories, the laughter,
like a lucky coin tucked into a pocket,
like a charm strung around their wrists.
She makes them feel young.
She makes them feel clever.
She makes them feel.
Everything about her is so real
They chew slowly at every meal
Just to listen be a part of feeling magnificent
Girl at the centre sees worth in each moment spent
And they love her for it—
but only in the way people love borrowed things.
They do not ask where she goes when she is alone.
They do not wonder what she wants
when she is not making them whole.
They do not think to ask how it feels
to be the one who gives, and gives,
and gives—
until she is an outline,
an echo,
a half-finished story
in someone else’s book.
She tells herself she does not mind.
That it is enough to be wanted,
to be kept, and centered
to be the diamond sparkle in their eyes,
the magic from their youth.
But there is a whisper beneath the wanting.
A crack in the charm.
A truth she is too afraid to name:
They’re miserable
and they know
and they always knew
Borrowed things always have to be returned.
She didn’t know
At first, she didn’t see it
And then it hit her:
Borrowed things always have to be returned.
She knew then to stop giving it away for free.
She became true to herself, free to be ‘ME’.
She found love and adoration, worshipped by the one.
Her own Truth and admiration, blinding bright like the sun.
She is you
She rises each day with unshaken grace, a force so adorned.
No longer bound by shadows, nor tattered or torn.
A queen of her own making, her spirit reborn.
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