I don't know if you gonna like it or not but give it a try. And English isn't my first language .
Images used are not mine; they were sourced from Google. All credit goes to the original creators and copyright holders.
I jolted awake, gasping for breath, the remnants of the suffocating darkness clinging to me like a shroud. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic echo of the terror I had just experienced. Tears streamed down my face, hot and real.
My lungs won't expand. My breaths keep coming in short gasps . With my eyes still closed, I could feel my sweet - soaked body, but I didn't dare to make a move as every muscle in my body pain like hell.
After a long moment, my breathing began to even out. I blinked, my vision slowly focusing on the familiar shapes of my bedroom. It was just a nightmare. Again.
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A heavy weariness settled over me as I looked around the room, the familiar surroundings offering little comfort. The echoes of his words, the image of his falling figure, the sheer emptiness in his eyes - they lingered, sharp and painful, a haunting reminder of the turmoil that plagued my sleeping hours.
The memory of that morning is etched into my mind with a clarity that time cannot dim. It plays out behind my eyelids with agonizing precision, each detail sharp and unrelenting. He was preparing for battle, his movements usually so fluid and assured, were slightly... off. There was a subtle tension in his shoulders, a fleeting shadow that crossed his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking.
I knew. Deep down, a cold knot of dread had already begun to tighten in my stomach. There was something he wasn't telling me, something he was trying to mask with a forced smile and a casual tone. His eyes, usually so open and honest, held a guarded quality, a hint of a silent farewell that my heart instinctively recognized. It, the weight of a decision I didn't understand pressing down on him.
I remember our first meeting as if it were yesterday, a stark contrast to the agonizing memory of his imagined fall. His gaze was gentle, filled with an immediate warmth that melted away the apprehension I usually felt in such settings.
His touch, when he took my hand, was surprisingly tender, sending a shiver of something unfamiliar yet comforting through me. He spoke to me with a respect that I hadn't often encountered, listening intently to my hesitant words, making me feel seen and valued in a way I never had before. He had a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary, of finding beauty in the simplest of things.
He never pressured, never demanded, always placing my feelings and comfort above his own. He saw past my insecurities, my sharp edges, and loved the man beneath. And I... I, in my foolishness, often met his unwavering love with a hesitant heart, a fear of vulnerability that built invisible walls between us.
Oh, Kevin. If only I could turn back the hands of time. If only I could stand before the younger me, shake him by the shoulders, and make him see the incredible man who stood before him. I would shower you with the love you so freely gave, cherish every moment, and banish the doubts that clouded our early days.
Instead, I was often prickly, insecure, a "jerk," as my nightmare-fueled guilt now so brutally reminds me. I questioned his motives, doubted his sincerity, and held back a part of myself, afraid of truly surrendering to the depth of his affection. How blind I was! How foolish to not fully embrace the boundless love you offered.
If only I had known then what I know now, Kevin. If only I could go back and give you all the love you so deserved, without reservation, without hesitation, without being the fearful, foolish jerk I sometimes was. You deserved so much more, my love. So much more.
