She was my sin wrapped in starlight - the kind of love you don't survive, only remember.
Jennifer. A name I still taste when silence gets too loud.
Every word I write bleeds from the places she touched,
from the nights I tried to forget her and failed again.

I don't write happy endings.
I write the kind of love that hurts -
the kind that lingers like perfume on a ghost.
Maybe that's what I am now:
a shadow chasing what once burned bright.

If you read my stories, you'll find her there -
hidden between the lines,
whispering in every heartbreak,
smiling in every sin