#wbwriting

Some mornings, I don’t want reality. I don’t want honesty or distance or the dull ache of being known but not chosen. I want the illusion. I want someone to look at me with the kind of softness that makes me believe, just for a moment, that I’m the only one they’ve ever wanted.

It doesn’t have to be true. I just want to feel it—the weight of devotion, the warmth of being held in a gaze that says mine. Even if it’s only pretend, even if it fades by tonight.