It's been one month since...
It’s been one month since I saw him with my own fucking eyes—not through shitty Instagram lives, not as a blur of pixels and buffering heartbreak, but real, living, breathing in front of me.
It’s been one month since I stood only a meter away, not continents apart, and realized why people call him sunshine—because for the first time in forever, I felt his warmth.
It’s been one month since the words “I saw Louis fucking Tomlinson” left my lips like a prayer answered—and for once, it wasn’t just a dream I’d wake up from.
It’s been one month since he said, “I never imagined coming here and performing,”—and I sobbed while the crowd roared around me, and all I could do was feel PROUD.
It’s been one month since I sang “Night Changes” with him, not behind the scratched screen of a Samsung keypad phone, not alone in the dark bedroom—but in a sea of voices, his voice guiding mine.
It’s been one month since I sang “I don’t feel like going home”—and I meant it. I felt it in my chest, in my skin, in my whole damn soul. And I know he felt it too.
It’s been one month since I was so caught up in the magic of him, in his smile, in the way he was there, that I didn’t even care he didn’t sing HOTH and DEFENCELESS. (And I meant to be mad. I really did.)
It’s been one month since I’ve had a photo of Louis in my phone that I clicked—with my own hands, with my own eyes, not downloaded, not imagined—real and mine.
It’s been one month since my inner child—the one who whispered “maybe one day” into her pillow—screamed, sobbed, danced, and felt so seen it hurt.
It’s been one month since I met some of the best people the internet ever gave me—strangers turned to friends because of one boy with a mic and a heart too big to hold.
It’s been one month, and every version of me still aches to go back. Because once you’ve seen the sun this close, once you’ve felt that kind of light—you spend forever chasing it again.
But maybe…
just maybe…
one day, I’ll get to feel that again.
