#no ragrets

I keep wondering if love is enough to save two people from themselves. What we had was real — painfully real — but maybe that was the problem. We could never shrink it into friendship, never pretend it was something light or harmless. Every feeling between us carried too much weight. Loving you felt natural, but being with you felt destructive, like we were holding broken glass too tightly and calling the bleeding devotion.

I think part of me found comfort in your chaos because it was familiar. I was used to loving things that hurt a little, used to confusing instability with passion. Your storms did not scare me because I had already learned how to survive in bad weather long before I met you. Maybe that is why I stayed so long — because your chaos felt like home, even when it was tearing us apart.

“Hey Nana, if you and I were lovers, would we have been able to fill the emptiness by holding each other?”

I think about that question more than I should. Maybe for a moment, yes. Maybe in the quiet hours, in the warmth of another person’s arms, the loneliness would soften enough to feel survivable. But emptiness has a way of returning when the room goes silent again. Two lonely people cannot always heal each other just because they love each other deeply.