Moonshine

Carbonated Water, Sugar, Caramel Colour, Acidity Regulator

From the sidelines, one might have thought it inevitable—that descent into obsession, the silent ruin that had crept up on him like a shadow at dusk. He had been so taken with her, with the purity she seemed to embody, that unblemished flame he believed was his alone to know. And, ah, how he'd revelled in it, tasting the thrill of her devotion, basking in the light of that adoration as if it were his by right. There she'd been, adorned in innocence and mystery, with her fragrance of flowers and water, as if she'd risen from some ethereal realm solely to give herself over to him.

But watching from afar, it was plain as day that whatever she'd given him—whatever he'd imagined he held in his hands—was bound to slip away. There's a kind of blindness in men like him, isn't there? A belief that devotion can be controlled, that a woman's love is something to possess rather than behold. And so, when she left, when she finally turned her back on him and disappeared into the wintry night, the bewilderment on his face was almost tragic in its simplicity. She had departed without a word, a figure vanishing into the chill of December, leaving him stunned by the emptiness she left behind, as though he had only just realized how frail his hold on her had been.

And there he sat, watching her from memory as she bent over her desk, pouring out the last of her tenderness in ink, bleeding him from her thoughts with every line. What had he expected? That she would hold him forever, pinned to her heart like some cherished relic? He had imagined himself unforgettable, but now he watched in horror as she wrote, stripping herself of his memory, as though with each stroke she was scraping him away from her soul.

One could almost pity him, this man pacing the dim streets in search of her, haunting the shadows with a desperation that seemed both pathetic and profound. It was as if he wandered the dark corners of his own mind, grasping for a remnant of the love he'd believed indestructible, only to find the truth he feared most—that love, when taken for granted, leaves behind nothing but bones.

"Her heartbeat doesn't chase him no more."