You swore you didn’t love him.
You didn’t wait for his steps in the hall, but your head snapped up when the door groaned, praying it was him in one piece.
You didn’t feel the world stall when his gaze pinned you, but you craved the silence that roared in your skull.
You didn’t care when the grimace slid off his face, but his laughter burrowed into your bones like a hymn you didn’t know you missed.
You didn’t care how his voice rasped in the dark, but you counted every word like coins you couldn’t afford to lose.
You didn’t care for his words, but you swallowed them like pills you couldn’t stop taking.
You didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed your arm, but you burned for the weight of his grip, even when it bruised.
You didn’t miss the weight of his hands on you, but you burned for every touch, like an addict for the needle.
You didn’t need his breath on your neck, but you ached for it like a drunk aches for the last drop.
You didn’t let him inside your head, but every thought was laced with his name like poison in your veins.
You didn’t want him to see you, but something inside you shattered and stitched itself back together when he asked.
You didn’t want to know him, but wake you at midnight and you’d still whisper why he never buttons his shirt to the throat.
You didn’t mind seeing him with someone else, but your hands gripped the bar hard enough to splinter wood.
You didn’t think about him, but he hunted you down every night in your dreams.
You swore you didn’t love him— God, you swore— but you did.