HirayaKalayaan
There was a time when the world felt light, when love was as simple as laughter echoing down school hallways and whispered promises beneath golden sunflowers and sprawling acacia trees. Back then, we didn't think about the weight of forever-we only cared about the now.
Milk and I were inseparable, two souls tangled in the kind of love that people wrote stories about. Sweet, like the strawberry shortcakes we shared on lazy afternoons, soft and warm, untouched by the harshness of reality. But love, real love, is heavier than it seems. It carries expectations, sacrifices, and the slow, creeping pressure of reality.
I can't remember the exact moment it changed-when the warmth between us turned into something suffocating, when our words became sharp instead of sweet, when love became something we had to survive rather than something we could live in.
Maybe it was after high school, when the world no longer revolved around our stolen kisses and late-night phone calls. Maybe it was when we realized that loving someone doesn't always mean you're good for each other.
Looking back, I wonder-was there ever a time we were truly free? Or were we just pretending, hoping that if we held on tight enough, we could keep the love from slipping through our fingers?