Bellefleur Lingerie essay contest winner

Bellefleur Lingerie essay contest winner

We are overwhelmed with emotion with all of our entries to this month’s essay contest. We laughed, we cried and had an incredibly tough time picking a winner! We want to thank all of you that took the time to write 500-1000 words on...

Over the next few weeks we will be sharing our 5 finalist essays, so keep on top of our Facebook and blog posts to read the winners’ stories. For our grand prize winner, we choose a piece that really took us by surprise. A poem, by one of our customers we call “Z.” We were so touched by this artistic and intimate expression of words this individual so openly shared with us.

 

This is a story that so many of us can relate to, and while it is about going through heartbreak, it’s also very real and powerful. Bellefleur represents the powerful woman. The woman who wrote this is powerful and we are happy she found the joy of lingerie for nobody else but her. We would like to share her poem with you and honor that as part of the collective Bellefleur story. Thank you “Z”, for sharing your story with us. xx

 

Here it Is

by Z


 Here it is: he loves you, he wants to help you. Whatever it takes, he says. He’ll fly you over oceans.

The whole time, there is part of you that knows this is a lie. That this man is a boy, a sweet and selfish child and there is no room for what you need in the sea of what he wants.

But it has been a hard few months and you cling to it, this promise of help. This light that says, you don’t have to do it yourself.

And so you make the preparations. You schedule the time off work. Your smile is contagiously big. You write a packing list.

On that list: something beautiful. Something extravagant, something you’d never buy for yourself.

Something you would buy for him.

A week later he breaks your heart and you hope that if you cry hard enough he will change his mind and remember that he loves you. That he wants to help you.

You fold away the something beautiful. You think to yourself, in a month, in a year, maybe.

And as much as you think about him, sometimes you think of that something beautiful, tucked into a box below the bed.

It isn’t a month, or a year, but days until you pull it back on your body. A work of art, handmade in France.

He will never see it. You anticipated this thought, expected it to draw tears.

It doesn’t. 

He will never see it. Breathe in.

He will never see it. Breathe out.

This is how the hurry of your heartbeat slows.

This is how you learn to let him go.