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Everything I needed, he arrived like fresh air on a suffocating summer day.
At first, it was nothing—just a passing hello, an accidental compliment that quietly sharpened into desire. Soon, I was searching every doorway, every corner, wondering if he’d appear again. And one day, he did.

He came radiant—warm, hopeful, alive. Then later, cold. Angry. Hostile. A version of himself he refused to face when challenged. He couldn’t bear to be seen weakened, especially after life had spent years cutting him down at the knees despite all his efforts to remain good, noble, composed, fragrant with restraint.

Still, he arrived carrying criticism in trembling hands, a steamboat of rage hissing loud before dissolving into the same exhausted rituals: chasing distractions, sleeping too long, shrinking into isolation. And no matter how gently she revealed herself to him, he answered the same way every time—slipping into the night before she could see what he was truly made of.

In the end, his absence became its own betrayal. Yet each time she returned, she was pulled back into an old symphony, one that had known her long before childhood, before desire, before she learned to become whatever others wanted her to be.

He never deserved her, and she never deserved the hurt. But together, they played their parts. Through him, she finally understood: it was never truly him she was searching for, but the abandoned piece of herself she could no longer ignore.

Now she guards that piece carefully. Not everyone deserves access to it, and most people would not know how to hold it if they did.

A diamond buried in rough earth.
A fragility born from beauty.