Delicate

The light seems dimmer somehow, even though the sun just set. Maybe it’s the way my stomach clenches every time your phone buzzes. A silent question mark hanging in the air.


I know, I know. You’re perfect. Star athlete, kind smile, always there to lend a hand. You see the art hiding in my notebook, the colors I didn’t even know I had, and you draw them out. But lately, those colors feel muted, like someone turned down the saturation.


I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I hate the doubt, the way it twists my insides. But I can’t ignore it either. The memories I shove down of late nights at practice and hushed phone calls you swore were wrong numbers. Excuses I cling to as a lifeline in a storm of unease. Because trusting you is easier. It’s a delicate thing. And right now, it feels… cracked. It wasn’t even the message itself. It was the fear—this cold, slithering dread—that whispered, “What if there’s more?”


What if, all this time, this perfect bubble we built was just an illusion?


Tonight, the storm almost broke. It threatened to shatter the fragile peace I’d built. The monster I thought long slain reared its ugly head. Venomous tirade brewed in my mind. Ready to tear us apart.


But then I saw my sketchbook, filled with your face. All the little details I captured because I believed in you, in us. And I knew I couldn’t let the flame turn everything to ash.


I took a breath, swallowed the venom, and sent a message instead. I told you the truth about the fear and the stupid doubt. The wait was torture; every tick of the clock is a hammer blow to my already fractured heart.


Then, as you explained it all, that wave of relief almost knocked me over. Searing heat on my face. How could I have doubted you?


You held me close. Your familiar scent grounding me. The pieces clicked back into place. And the serpent coiled back down. Defeated for now.


But the fear… it’s a shadow that lingers. I know we’ll be okay. We can be okay. But tonight, I just need you to know how scared I was. How close I came to letting the darkness win. How do I silence these whispers? How do I know for sure that you’ll always be my golden boy?


I just… I need you to know that I love you. And that love—it’s both beautiful and terrifying. Because with great love comes great fear of losing it. Please, hold my hand. Even when the shadows come.

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