777 ♥︎

Maybe in Another Life

Maybe in another life, we met before the noise — before the world learned your name and tried to claim it. Maybe I found you somewhere small and quiet, where the air smelled like rain and the only sound was laughter, unguarded and real. You didn’t have to hide behind perfection there. You didn’t have to smile through exhaustion or be the light for everyone else. You could just be you.

Maybe in another life, I saved you — not from yourself, but from the loneliness the world wrapped around you. I found you before the masks, before the mirrors, before the eyes that never really saw you. Maybe I held your hand and whispered that you didn’t have to be everything, that being human was enough. And maybe you believed me.

Maybe in another life, you loved me too — quietly, deeply, without fear. Maybe we sat under the stars at Neverland, not as idol and admirer, but as two souls who found peace in each other’s presence. Maybe we didn’t need to speak much; our silences said everything. I’d watch you hum to yourself, that small rhythm only you knew, and I’d think: this is what it means to love someone — to see them even when the world looks away.

Maybe in another life, there were no cameras, no interviews, no noise. Just two people who found home in each other’s company. Maybe we made breakfast at midnight, shared old songs, danced barefoot in the kitchen. Maybe you let me protect the parts of you no one else could touch — the tender, frightened corners of your heart.

And maybe in another life, we didn’t have to say goodbye. Maybe the story didn’t end with distance and grief, but with laughter echoing through open windows. Maybe the love stayed soft and steady, like a song that never needed an audience.