His

I was his. Not by force, nor by choice, but by the weight of something heavier than love-an inevitability that clung to my soul like dusk to the edge of night.

Every thought, every breath, every step i took seemed to orbit him, like a moon caught in the unrelenting pull of a planet. And he? He was everything-storm and silence, shadow and fire, the abyss and the tether that kept me from falling into it.

My name feels small when I think of him, like a whisper against thunder. I'm not sure when I lost it-when it was replaced by the aching echo of his name carved into the marrow of my being.

I tell myself this isn't love. Love is supposed to free you, isn't it? But this is something darker, sharper. A chain that gleams like gold until it cuts.

A truth i dare not speak but cannot escape:

I am his.

And he? He is the ruin it cannot refuse.