we won't cry anymore

like a movie

The rain fell like the weight of unsaid words, heavy, yet tender. It wasn't just water—it was a cleansing of fears, of doubt, of all the pain they carried inside. There they stood, two souls intertwined in a field drenched with possibility. One heart brimming with love, while the other was cloaked in the shadows of self-loathing.

They didn't understand how someone like them—damaged, broken, and hardened by the years—could ever be worthy of such devotion. The mirror had long stopped reflecting beauty, only showing the cracks that were never meant to be healed. And yet, there was them, the other, always smiling, always glowing with a warmth that felt undeserved.

"You're wrong about me," they'd say, their voice fragile, breaking under the weight of their insecurities. "I'm not who you think I am."

But the other just laughed, soft and sweet like the rhythm of the rain. "You're everything I need," they replied, pulling them closer. "In your cracks, I see the stars."

There was something in that moment—in the way they held hands, in the way they danced without caring for the storm that soaked them through—that felt like it was pulled from the scenes of an old film. A love story, except this time it wasn't scripted, and it wasn't perfect. It was raw. Messy. And full of contradictions.

They twirled, awkwardly at first, trying to avoid the puddles forming beneath their feet. But soon, the laughter broke through, easing the tension, and they spun faster, their shoes sinking into the earth as they forgot the weight of what they carried. For a second, for that infinite moment, they were lighter than air, as if the world itself had dissolved into that dance.

"I don't deserve this," they whispered into the storm, their voice nearly lost in the wind.

"You deserve everything," came the reply, firm and full of love. "And more."

It was strange, really, how two people could be so opposite yet fit so perfectly. One, lost in the maze of their own self-doubt, fighting to believe they were worthy of love. The other, relentless in their pursuit of showing them that they were—the love glowing in their eyes as bright as the day they first met.

In the distance, the storm began to quiet, but they kept moving. No words were spoken, but none were needed. Their hearts had found a rhythm of their own, beating against the soundtrack of the falling rain.

And in that moment, just like in the movies, everything stood still. It didn't matter that one couldn't see the beauty in themselves because, in the eyes of the other, they were already whole.

This was their story—imperfect, wild, drenched in the rain. A love that didn't need to be understood by the outside world, only by the two of them. And maybe, just maybe, it was the truest kind of love there was.

Because despite it all, despite the doubt and the self-hate, they were loved fiercely. Completely. Without question. Like a movie—except this time, it was real.