𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 ~| 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴

The Night We Met

~'~

𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨

𝐇𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Lando

I had always thought love would be softer than this.

Something light and easy, a quiet kind of warmth that settled into the bones, that made a home in the spaces between breaths. Something simple. Something kind.

But this was nothing like that.

This was agony.

A slow, exquisite torture that unraveled me inch by inch, night after night. This was love like a wound that never closed, like a blade lodged so deep I couldn't pull it free without destroying myself in the process.

It hurt to want her.

My soul screamed for her.

Every night, the same quiet war raged inside me. Every night, I fought the instinct to go to her, to press my forehead to hers and whisper everything I'd kept buried in my chest. I fought the need to tell her that she was the reason I moved. I had uprooted my entire life for the chance to be near her, to be close, to be anything she would let me be.

Because even this was better than a life where she wasn't in it.

She didn't know.

She didn't know that I was hopelessly, stupidly, irrevocably hers. That she could break me with a single word, a single glance, and I would thank her for it.

She didn't know that I memorized her like scripture. That I hoarded every smile, every sigh, every glance, like a man dying of thirst hoards his last drop of water.

I was drowning in her, and she didn't even know it.

Every breath she took stole the air from my lungs, every moment chipped away at the fragile balance between wanting to run and needing to be near her. And still, I stayed. I stayed because leaving was worse. Because even if I could never touch her, never have her, I would rather exist in the agony of being close than the emptiness of being without.

I had moved all for the hope that maybe, I could be near her again. That I could carve out a place in her orbit, even if I could never land in her hands. But it was worse than I had imagined. So much worse.

Because she was here. She was here.

In my space, on my couch, in my kitchen, in my goddamn heart, filling up every crack and crevice, making a home out of me like she didn't even realize she was doing it. And I could do nothing. Nothing. I could sit next to her and feel the warmth of her skin an inch from mine. I could listen to her voice, memorize every inflection, every soft breath between words. I could watch her move, stretch, take up space in my world like she was meant to be there.

And yet.

I couldn't touch her. Couldn't reach for her. Couldn't press my lips to her forehead when she furrowed her brows in frustration, or trace my fingers down her spine just to feel the shiver it would cause. Couldn't kiss her until she forgot who's air she was breathing.