I loved her more fiercely than I ever intended to love again. Not because she asked me to, but because something within me needed to. As if some part of my soul recognized hers, and begged to give her everything. Like an angel descending into the ruins of my heart, whispering to try again. And so I did. I gave her pieces of myself I’d sworn I’d never share again. My aches, my trembling truths, the wounds I thought had long since closed, but she kissed them open. I began building a future with hands still shaking from the past, tracing blueprints of us across her skin. I told myself this was safe, even as the ground cracked beneath our feet. I tried to be careful, but she made recklessness feel like hope. I let her too close. Now, where her love once lived, there’s only silence. She left, not like a storm, but like a sunrise slipping away before I could hold onto its warmth. Like a page torn from a book mid-sentence. Now I sit here, love still blooming with nowhere to go. It hums in my chest like a song with no singer, a fire slowly fading without fuel. I never meant to love again. Never meant to need again. But I did, somehow slipping through the cracks. And now, I don’t know how to stop.
