when i wrote enamor, my latest poetry book, it was in a fit of almost rage- it happened in one night, all at once. it felt like vomiting; painful, but healthy in a way. he didn't love me and i didn't know why i loved him. unfair. the word enamor meant to be infatuated with someone, they consume you. for me, it was one sided. unspoken. it's overwhelming, addicting, and a rush. possession and jealousy. before, it was opposites. total opposites, enough to be a list...now? we fall into stride beside each other, compatibility. unity. - i don't have to be jealous cause he has my trust, i have his. - with enamor, i ended in the "confess" stage - where i never quite told him, but i wanted him to know. but with this, i never had to tell him or feel the need to, he just always knew. happiness is a more settled love. we're enamored with each other, it breeds a sort of joy. a contentment. i've taken my time with happiness, cause it doesn't flood out of me in one night. i weave it like a tapestry. i carry it with me on the hard days. he cares for me. in turn, he carries me. i care for him. i'm not just infatuated with someone. but they're infatuated with me. we have each other... that's happiness.
𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.
Book 1 in "Dark Fate" series.
"They say you can't choose who you fall in love with, and he couldn't agree more. His sister's best friend had captured his heart, and he was consumed by his obsession for her and now, he knows he would never be able to let her go because she belongs with him."
• ✧ •
There's a kind of love that feels like sunlight - warm, gentle, safe.
And then... there's his.
It's not cruel. It's not loud. It's something far more dangerous - quiet, calculated, all-consuming.
He was my best friend's brother.
The man I was never supposed to notice. He watched from the shadows, memorizing me without ever needing a single word.
I never really knew his name... but he knew everything about me.
My fears. My patterns. My dreams. Even the parts I hadn't yet discovered myself.
He's always been there, just a step behind-waiting, watching, wanting.
And now, he's no longer waiting.
He calls it love.
I don't know what to call it, only that it pulls me in like gravity - unavoidable, inescapable.
There's safety in his arms, yet danger in his silence.
Gentleness in his touch, yet fire in his gaze.
And somewhere in the tension between fear and longing, I find myself unraveling.
Because the scariest part of being wanted like this...
Is realizing you might want them back.