Men mistake devotion for chains,
loyalty for permanence,
kindness for naivety,
emotion for weakness.
They believe your armor is theirs to wield —
eternal, unbreakable, bound to them.
But your armor is not possession.
It is ancient fire, storm-forged steel,
the sacred gift of a woman who cannot be owned.
It is given, never owed.
And when it is betrayed, it does not crack.
It disappears —
like flame swallowed by the night,
like thunder rolling out of reach.
One breath it shields them,
the next it is gone.
And when they reach for it again,
they grasp only shadows.
For you — untamed, unafraid —
have already become the absence
they cannot cage.
