The stolen glances, the anticipated breathlessness on seeing them, the butterflies you feel when they touch you, the rush when they press their lips on your forehead, the fire when their body is pushed against yours.
Why is it that we are so bothered by what the other person is doing even if it doesn’t affect us at all? Why are we so consumed by the idea of judging someone, even passively for that matter? And it doesn’t even end at that.
Who knows if maybe we are (or aren’t) meant to be? But that will be seen when it will be. Life and time will take us there.
“You gave away your hiding place,” I called out to you. “You still won’t find me,” you said.
They say there is always room for better. But what if he was the best you could ever have? What if there is no room for anything better at all?