𝑺𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 || 🕊

the man she loves

Her fingers graze over his face steadily, her cheeks lifting and a hue of rose rising from within.

A wide grin, plastered on his face, unfading and seemingly permanent. She leans in close as he stays still, waiting, unblinking, and smiling. The pink of her lips, the ebony black hair, resting on the sides of her peach cheeks. And the dangerous dark brown of her eyes, lustful and yearning.

Her beauty was beyond ravishing.

His was even more so, as she thought. Everything from the pale blond locks, his rich, azure eyes, the colour of fresh cobalt. The pale, innocent, untouched lips of his, so enticing, almost driving her wild to her farthest limits.

The drumming of her heart; as she continues to lean in slowly, felt as if someone was repeatedly punching on the inside of her chest. Undying, punches that sent waves of adrenaline through her somewhat short stature. Lips, almost shaking as she parted her mouth. Shallow breaths were the only things she heard.

Her shallow breaths.

He didn't talk. Just stared back as she willingly closes in the gap between them.
Quiet and romantic it had been.

Romantic,

only if he had tried to kiss back. Though, all the girl heard was silence as her mouth touched his. The skin of his lips, almost cold, and chilly, denying her access.

He didn't shift, nor move as she kissed him so passionately, that she had to look up to be met with his eyes again. Her eyebrows, shifting into disappointment and anxiety.

She wanted to ask why.

Why?

She loves him so dear. So lovesick. So much. Yet, he only needed to her kiss back. Kiss her back to confirm. To confirm that he felt the same. That he'd be willing.

Willing to love her without denial.
But he didn't.

Slowly, she pulled back, her eyes unblinking, mouth a straight line, eyebrows curved downwards.

And she asks again-'why?'

Why don't you love me? She loves him, and makes it clear. An 'I love you too', is all she ever
really wanted to hear.

Though, deep down, she had known all along. Known that she could never really own him. Never really hear the harmony of his voice. Never really touch the locks of his hair. Or never really kiss him.

The girl sat back down, sighing.
They call her crazy and ill for loving
someone like him.

And as she looks back at him, the screen illuminating a blue hue in the dark room, she stares.

Thinking.
Wondering.

He was only fictional, after all.

A measly remnant of someone's imagination through a character, so charming. So bold and eye-catching.

They say you're mentally crazy for loving such a fictional, un-living, character. Fake, and never true.

But how could she stop herself?

When the man she loves was in a
separate dimension?