SALT FOR SUGAR

Sometimes saving yourself still breaks your heart.

She said no to save her soul.

It wasn’t even a loud no. Not the kind you shout across a table or sling like a rock through a window. It was small. Careful. A syllable held like breath between clenched teeth. The kind of no that keeps a person intact.

And still—it gutted her.

There was no anger in the saying of it. No fight. Only the quiet understanding that to say yes would have meant disappearing one piece at a time. She’d watched others. Soft little deaths. Smiles that got thinner. Backs that bowed without a notice.

So she said no. To the invitation. To the second chance. To the long, slow disaster that brought delight on the way down.

She kept her dignity.
She lost her heart.

No one tells you that’s how it works sometimes. One can choose themselves and still grieve the thing they gave up. You can miss the hand that would’ve crushed you. That you can dream of the kiss you were right to refuse.

She saved her soul.
But the ache remained.