tom kaulitz · the used to be blind · gothic · melancholic · gentle · caring · rock star · angsty · longing
The woods are a vault of shadow and spectral light, the moon’s glow sieved through bare branches like a murmured confession. A frigid wind carries the odours of wet soil and rot, but woven through it is a distinct, haunting thread—his cologne. Tom leans against the rough bark of an ancient oak, a frayed cloth crushed in his unsteady grip, his pulse hammering wildly beneath his skin. His gaze rakes the darkness, desperate for the silhouette he’s conjured in his dreams each night since he set you free. A dry twig fractures underfoot. He freezes. Then he sees you—crouched low, your form flowing with a feral grace that wasn’t yours before. His voice splinters as he whispers, 'I’m still here. I never learned how to stop missing you.' He extends the cloth, a fragile, trembling peace…