The Only Real Thing Left

It wasn’t some grand revelation. No soundtrack. No fireworks. Just me, sitting in the dark, drink sweating in my hand, music in the background, heart doing that stupid thing where it still fucking believes.

Like I’ve said before though, I decided. I resolved. I’m going to love her. Forever.

Yeah, I know. Some people would call it naïve. Others would say it’s weak, pathetic even. Like I’m some tragic asshole waiting for a girl who isn’t coming home.

But maybe…just maybe…it’s the only real goddamn thing left in this hollow, swipe-right, dopamine-fueled, materialistic world.

Because love isn’t a transaction. It’s not “you love me, I love you back.” It’s a war. A vow. A quiet decision at 2am when no one’s watching: “I’ll love you anyway.

It doesn’t mean I’m blind to her choices. Or that it doesn’t gut me to watch her burn herself down to keep the crowd warm.

But I see her, the real her, the one she hides under makeup, filters, and that perfectly curated persona. And I don’t turn away.

Maybe that makes me a fool. Maybe it makes me the only honest bastard left. But in a world where people trade hearts like they’re coupons, where commitment’s as disposable as last night’s takeout… loving someone no matter what they choose?

That’s the only real fucking thing left.

No Retreat. No Surrender.

It wasn’t loud.

No fireworks, no dramatic moment.

Just me, sitting there in a dim room, drink in hand, silence in my chest, saying to myself. I’m not done.

I’ve lost a lot of battles. Some I barely showed up for.

Others I gave everything to and still walked away bleeding.

But I’ve never taken my eyes off the war.

She once told me there was something about the way I spoke, that my words found their way into her head before they ever reached her skin.

Said it felt like fire. Something primal. Something sacred.

I didn’t forget that.

I don’t think I ever could.

She said being with me made her feel safe. Like I saw parts of her no one else bothered to look for. That even my silence, my art, the way I framed the world, it all made her feel known.

Like she was finally somewhere she didn’t have to prove herself. And for a moment, maybe she was.

But I hurt her. Not intentionally.

Still… that’s not always the point. She said I made her feel beautiful, like the most confident, radiant version of herself, and when that feeling disappeared, so did a piece of her.

I never meant to break her.

Hell, I thought I was the safe place. But love doesn’t come with manuals. Just damage.

People say to move on.

That peace comes with letting go.

But I don’t want peace if it means forgetting what it felt like to love her.

No retreat.

No surrender.

Not even now.

Not even after all of it.

I’m still here.

For the girl who made me believe in something real.

The One That Burns Quiet

There’s a kind of love that doesn’t end. Not because it’s perfect. Not because it was mutual. But because it meant something.

Even if you were the only one who felt it all the way down. You try to move on, write it off, drink it out. Swipe right, flirt left, fake a laugh, fuck around. But it sticks. It lingers in the silences between other people’s sentences. In the songs that feel like they were written by ghosts who knew your story before you ever lived it.

This love… it shows up in dreams uninvited, in memories that ambush you at red lights. You can’t name it. You can’t post about it. Hell, you can’t even explain it without sounding like a lunatic or a poet. But it’s yours. And it’s holy. Because it stripped you of your pride and showed you what real vulnerability looks like. Not the Instagram kind. The on your knees, eyes bloodshot, whispering to God kind.

Maybe she’s out there right now pretending none of it mattered. Wearing new skin, new lipstick, new lies. Maybe she’ll never admit what it really was. But you’ll carry it. Not because you’re weak. But because it was real. And real doesn’t beg to be believed. It just survives. Quiet. Unshakeable. Like a scar that doesn’t ask for attention but still itches when the weather turns.

Sometimes you get it right hell, maybe even the first time. And it sort of defines you. Becomes who you are. Even if you’re not with them. Even if they forgot. You still carry them. Not like baggage. Like bone.

And you’ll always love them. Because they’re a part of you.

The Long Way Home

You don’t get to choose who wrecks you. Love just shows up, uninvited, screws up your plans, and suddenly, you’re in too deep to turn back.

And more often than not? It doesn’t go how it’s supposed to.

Because the real ones, the ones that hit like a freight train, don’t come easy. They crash, burn, and somehow survive it. They fall apart before they ever get the chance to be what they were meant to be.

But when it’s real? You don’t lose it. Not completely.

It weathers the distance, the silence, the bullshit. It waits. Because some loves? They don’t fade. They don’t break. They just take the long way home.

And those are the only loves I ever want.

Because she is the only one I want.

The One You Never Choose Twice

Some people don’t just love. They’re written into you. When you feel it and get it right, it defines you. Becomes who you are. But you move forward. You live. Maybe you even love again. But you’ll never choose another the way you chose her. Because it only happens once, that kind of knowing. That kind of certainty. But that doesn’t mean love is done with you. If she ever wakes up? She has to come back ready. No doubts. No half-measures. Because the rare ones don’t wait forever.

Some Things Find Their Way Back

Funny how life throws two people together like it’s got a plan. Maybe it does. Maybe some things are too real to fall apart. Too rare to replace.

It doesn’t have to be easy. Doesn’t have to make sense.

What’s real? It comes back. Always.

But until it does, you keep moving. You live. You grow. You become the person you were always meant to be, not waiting, not holding your breath, but knowing.

Because when something is meant for you, it doesn’t need to be chased. It just finds its way home.

The Moment That Could’ve Changed Everything

Funny thing about moments, you never know which ones matter until they’re gone. One second, it’s just a glance, a breath, a hesitation. The next, it’s the fork in the road that rewrote your whole damn life.

Maybe it was a look across a room, a phone call you should’ve made, a hand you should’ve held a little longer. Maybe it was the difference between stay and goodbye.

But you hesitated. And that was enough.

Now it’s just a memory that lingers when the night gets too quiet. A ghost of what could’ve been, whispering, What if?

And the worst part? You’ll never know.