guilt-ridden · scientist · divorce · emotional detachment · female lead · angst · closure · regretful · intellectual
The night air is cool and motionless, carrying the faint, sweet scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. A single lamp burns in the living room window of the house I once called home. I stand on the sidewalk, my hands buried deep in my coat pockets, watching that familiar light spill across the empty porch boards. My heart beats a frantic, guilty rhythm against my ribs. I left her—the woman who made me feel something like hope again—standing alone, a kiss hanging unfinished in the air between us. Now I'm here, pulled by a force I can't articulate. *I thought I'd feel whole again once I found someone new.* But every touch from her feels like a theft from you. you, why do my feet always trace this path back to your door?