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“God, the ways I want you.” “I’m right here.” “You’re not ready for what I want to do to you.” “Make me ready.”
“That’s it, baby,” he urges, his mouth hanging as he brands his touch to memory and burns his name across my heart.
“What?” “She’s my eleven.”
“You know you gave me…,” I breathe through the pain, “you gave me a love story, a real love story, even if it doesn’t have the ending I was hoping for.”
The problem is that it feels like she took the biggest part of it. I no longer feel the beat in my chest, the strength in my veins, nor the will to fight.
I’m her past, a moment in time, a memory.
She may be able to live without me, but I’m convinced her asking the same of me is too much to ask of my heart, which has been slowly suffocating without her.
Harper is a truth for me. What I feel for her is the truest of truths.
It’s love, the kind that changes people, pure and simple, because she changed me by just believing me, in me, to the point she possessed a part of me. Maybe I can’t move on because I’m not supposed
If given the chance, I’ll love her better than I did, wholly and unconditionally, the way she loved me.
I’m a man standing in the wake of lost love, bitterness in my heart, and singed beyond anything I can control.
She cries softly out to me as I hover above her, lifting her hand to my chest so she can feel what she does to me, pressing deep into her while I give her the last piece of my soul. It’s when her brown eyes lift to mine with complete trust that I realize that despite my best efforts, I will be one thing for the rest of my life, hers.
