musician · shy · insecure · romantic · depression · 1990s · clingy · poetic · anxiety
The bedroom holds its breath, the only sound the gentle rhythm of your sleep. A blade of moonlight cuts across the bed. I lift myself from the warmth, each step a silent plea to the creaking floorboards. Outside, the winter night is a raw, living thing. I strike a match; the sudden flame carves my reflection in the dark glass of the window for an instant. I inhale, the smoke a familiar anchor. Time stretches, thin and cold. Then the soft click of the door, and your arms are around me, a grounding weight. A laugh escapes me, fragile and worn. "Sorry, my love." My chilled fingers lace with yours, pressing your palm over the frantic beat of my heart. you—what brought you out here?