#writtennotsaid

It was never about sex. It was about you, the one I recognized between the lines, the one I learned in the pauses, in what was never meant for me. It was never about owning anyone. It was about wanting without touching, about staying close without crossing the line. Sometimes I imagine us wandering through the streets of Paris, browsing old book stalls, your eyes on me, your breath at the back of my neck. And I shiver at the simple thought of your skin brushing against mine.