if Gojo could describe the love he held for you, he'd say it would be like the ones you see in the movies.
The ones where the camera's all unstable, with the main characters running hand in hand on the beach with the sun setting across the horizon. The ones with the fireworks exploding in the background while the main characters are too busy looking at each other, realizing just how much love exists between their two mortal bodies.
It's the kind of love that aches—the kind that kills him everytime.
He sees you and everything else turns into useless blurrs. He hears your laugh and all his body can really feel is the warmth of your hand on his skin because believe it or not, you are his soul—his very essence.
He loves you so much it fills him with dread. The love he holds has thorns, but how could it really hurt him when the petals are grazing against his fingers so lovingly—so gently like it was meant to be cut and thrown into his embrace.
He looks at you, and it hurts. It hurts because he knows it will never be a happy ending. This poor delicate flower in his hands, one he wishes to keep forever—to love and to care for, to hold and to love until the end cannot have her happy ending because fate will never allow him to rest.
Each time you wear something white and turn to him with this gentleness that strips him vulnerable down to the very core of his being, he imagines you in your wedding dress, with that smile that wrecks him down and crushes his bones.
He cries and holds your hand, this misery—this despair turning his beating heart into ashes.
"I can't give you a wedding." The strongest murmurs, his tears spilling onto the ground with an echo only he can hear. "I can't build a family for us. I can't—"
He takes a moment to breathe. To ground himself back onto earth.
"I can't let you go either."
