ENHYPEN

𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬 | JAY

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

Jay sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light of the room casting shadows across the scattered remnants of what once felt like home. He picked up his guitar, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, but his mind was elsewhere—lost in the labyrinth of self-doubt that twisted through his heart.

He thought about how she used to look at him, her eyes shimmering with affection. But even in those moments, a nagging feeling crept in, whispering that maybe he was only the "closest" she'd ever find to the ideal partner. It haunted him; this thought that somewhere out there was someone better who could make her laugh a little harder or understand her better. Despite her constant reassurances, the insecurity clawed at him, a constant reminder of his inadequacies.

When she'd told him he was everything she needed, he wanted to believe it. Yet the shadows of doubt loomed more significant than her words. "What if," he murmured to himself, "I'm just a placeholder in her life?" Each guitar strum felt like an echo of that insecurity, each note a reminder of the vulnerability he tried so hard to mask.

As the weeks passed, the emotional distance between them grew. Like sand through his fingers, he felt her slipping away, and it terrified him. She needed him, he thought—especially when she felt lost. But in those moments, he couldn't shake the feeling of being taken for granted, only valued when she was in need. The realization stung; he wasn't enough for her unless she felt small, and he questioned everything he'd done to deserve her love.

"Why does it always come back to this?" he muttered, frustration boiling beneath the surface. It was a cycle he couldn't break—a continuous loop of longing and disappointment. He wanted to bridge the gap between them, to share his fears, but the words never came. Instead, they sat heavy in his throat, choking him every time he thought of speaking up.

Days turned into weeks, and the weight of unreciprocated feelings pressed down on him. The bittersweet ache of love unfulfilled left him hollow. There was a painful beauty in the memories they'd shared, yet every moment felt tainted by the knowledge that they were slipping away, that she might never feel the same again. "Sorry it had to be you," he whispered into the silence, his heart aching at the realization that sometimes love just isn't enough.

But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of strength ignited within him. He remembered the lyrics from a song he'd penned—a promise to himself that he would learn to hold his hand, to appreciate his worth beyond the boundaries of their relationship. Slowly, he began to recognize that he could carve out his happiness and find solace in self-love even when she wasn't there.

"I'm over it," he said softly, a quiet resolve in his voice. The words felt foreign yet empowering, a declaration of independence. He could love her from a distance and cherish the memories without letting them consume him. He understood now that healing didn't revolve around her—it was about him, his journey, and his acceptance of who he was beyond their shared moments.

With newfound determination, Jay began stringing his guitar again, letting the chords flow freely, a melody filled with hope and resilience. The spaces between them felt a little less daunting as he found comfort in knowing that even in heartbreak, he could stand tall, more potent than the insecurities that once defined him.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

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