G_Lwriting
In progress
"I don't love."
That's how he warned me.
"I ruin. I break. I take. I burn."
And God help me, I should have listened.
We didn't start sweet.
We started like a match against gasoline -
fire first, regret later.
Hate was easier than admitting what we were.
Lust was safer than saying his name felt like a heartbeat.
We touched like enemies, breathed like liars, and looked at each other like war.
He wasn't gentle.
He wasn't safe.
But the way he looked at me...
the way he claimed me without ever saying the word -
that was the most dangerous thing of all.
We were never meant to fall.
We were meant to destroy.
But somewhere between the fighting and the touching, between the cold stares and the whispered "don't leave"...
destruction started to feel like devotion.
And I learned the truth:
Hearts don't break in silence.
They shatter in fists, whispers, jealousy, and clenched jaw confessions like,
"No one gets to have you but me."
He said he didn't love.
He lied.
And I did too.
We're not lovers.
We're addiction.
We're obsession.
We're the kind of story that doesn't end soft -
it ends screaming, shaking, craving, and coming back anyway.
Because some souls don't meet by chance -
they collide to destroy and still refuse to let go.