I still feel you on my skin,
like heat that refuses to fade.
Every time I close my eyes,
the memory of you finds me—
your breath, your voice,
the way silence bends around your name.
We said we'd stop.
We said we'd be sensible.
But every time I think of you,
my body betrays me,
and I'm back there—
in that moment where reason slipped away
and all that existed was us.
You taste like danger and safety
all at once.
You make me forget the world,
and then remind me
why I ever wanted to escape it.
I crave the way you look at me
when you're trying not to.
The way your hands hesitate,
as if touching me might set everything on fire—
and still, you do.
If this is wrong,
then let me live inside the wrongness.
Let me drown in the thought of you,
again and again,
until the ache becomes its own kind of prayer.
I'll never send this.
But if you ever feel a shiver
for no reason at all,
know it's me—
thinking of you,
wanting you,
writing your name into the dark.
