π΄πππππππππππ πππππ | ππ’π¦ πππ¦π£π¨π¨π§ ||
17 parts Ongoing MatureFrom the moment we met, I felt it-like my soul leaned forward before I did. Like it remembered something my body had long since buried. You looked at me like you'd done it before. Like you'd watched me break once and still chose to come back for more.
There's a silence in you that feels familiar. A grief in your smile that mirrors mine. We don't speak of it, but I feel it-like the echo of a goodbye we never got to say.
I tried to fight it. To be logical. But logic doesn't explain why my hands shake when yours brush mine. Or why, when you sleep, I trace your face like I'm storing it... again.
Some loves don't start. They continue. In ruins. In whispers. In the spaces where time forgets.
And whatever this is, it's not new. It's just us... finding each other again.
_
πππ’'ππ ππππ, ππππ¦. π΄ππ ππππ. πΌπ π‘βπ ππ’πππ‘, ππ π‘βπ πβπππ -ππ£πππ¦ π βππ‘π‘ππππ πππππ‘β, ππ£πππ¦ π€βππ πππππ ππβπ, ππ‘'π ππ. πΌ ππ€π π‘βππ‘ βππππ‘, π‘βππ‘ π ππ’π, π‘βππ‘ ππππ¦. πππ‘ πππ π ππππππ‘, πππ‘ ππ’π π‘ πππ π πππβπ‘-
ππ’π‘ ππ ππ£πππ¦ πππππ, πππππ π ππ£πππ¦ π’πππ£πππ π, π¦ππ’'ππ π π‘πππ ππ ππππ.
π΄ππ ππ πΌ βππ£π π‘π ππ’ππ ππππππππ ππ πππ π‘πππ πππππ‘ π‘π ππππ π¦ππ’, πΌ π€πππ. πΌ'ππ ππ’ππ βπππ£ππ πππ ππ’ππ βπππ π‘π ππππ π¦ππ’, π π€πππ‘ππππ.