She had sunlight tangled in her hair,
a careless gold that caught every eye,
stories spilling from her lips like sparks-
names, nights, laughter she never hid.

Her glasses sat too small on her face,
as if even they couldn’t contain
the certainty she carried
the way she walked like she knew the ending
before the story began.

And then she met me.

I was the pause she didn’t expect,
the silence between her sentences,
the answer that never came
no matter how many times she asked.

It drove her wild
not desire, not conquest,
but the unfamiliar weight of not winning.
She pushed, I stayed still,
she burned, I refused to catch.

Anger suited her less than confidence,
but she wore it anyway
sharp words, colder glances,
a storm that never quite broke.

We became something undefined,
a tension stretched too thin to name,
two stubborn hearts circling
what neither would admit.

Now there’s distance.
No calls, no echoes of her voice
filling the quiet.

But sometimes
in the space where pride used to live
there’s a softness we never touched,
a truth we never spoke:

we didn’t end
because we stopped feeling.
we ended
because neither of us would fall first.