limerence.

𝙍𝙀𝙈𝙀𝙈𝘽𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙊 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙂𝙀𝙏.

Hands clenched in my lap, I could only sit and watch as you closed the door on everything we still might have become. Years spent having your favourite dinner memorised, how you liked to relax after a long day of doing nothing; wrapped up in each other's arms, and learning to tell your mood by the tilt of your chin lost their meaning, defying space and time as though we'd never been. With one step in the wrong direction we reduced years and months and weeks to that one moment that made us come apart. The distance between us stretched, though my heart was never far from yours. Still it was only mine that broke along with the glass I'd been crushing between my fingers. The wine I'd brought to celebrate went bad in front of my very eyes, and I still could not loosen my grip. You said it'd always been my biggest flaw, holding on too tightly when I should have let go. It was over, I knew, but something kept me rooted to the spot. I stayed where you left me for what felt like decades, shattered glass still clinging to the tips of my fingers.
"Are you still not over it?" my mother asked then, but I barely heard her. I was busy waiting for the soft sound of your footsteps rounding the corner. Because even though the threads binding us together had been cut, there was still something that tied you to this place. I could only hope that if you wouldn't come back for me, maybe you'd at least come back to the place you'd called home for so many years.