Перепутала

It seemed like my heart promised fireworks, but in reality it turned out to be just a sparkler that quickly burned out and left only the smell of sulfur in my hands. It's funny and bitter at the same time: confusing love with something similar to it is like choosing fashionable boots that shine in the shop window, but rub your feet raw after a week.

There is no tragedy here that will affect the rest of my life - rather, a weary admission: “Yes, I was wrong.” The sheet is tucked in, there is no pulse to be found, and it doesn't seem to hurt so much anymore. The conclusion has been made: there was no exception, the miracle did not work. And even in this honesty there is a slight freedom - it is useful to make mistakes, especially when it becomes easier to breathe afterwards.