he was a literal greek god. jawline chiseled to perfection, a masterpiece of tattoos tracing his body, dark eyes that threatened to swallow me whole. it didn't help that he was an angel both inside and out.

he made my heart race, taking me on his motorcycle under city lights through chicago in the middle of the night, his helmet on my head as my hands squeezed his waist tightly, squeals leaving my lips. he never failed to make me laugh, punchlines delivered cheekily with his bradford accent. he astounded me with his humility, as he strung together heartbreaking lyrics with a harmonious melody like no big deal. and most of all, he was an attentive listener, and an observer. he noticed how i would flinch when someone would raise their voice too loud, how my eyes warily watched any stranger we would run into, how i was always hesitant to tell him what was bothering me - all habits i had learned from a neglectful dad and a manipulative ex, habits he helped me to unlearn, by being patient and constantly reminding me how special and loved I deserved to be. and we would lie on my childhood bed together, staring at the ceiling as we mapped out all of our hopes and dreams.

I’d never been so happy. then i realized i had fallen too hard, too fast.

because suddenly we were three months in, and i felt like he knew me inside and out, outside and in. his eyes would look down into mine intently, and i couldn't tell if he was admiring me or noticing my every flaw. so i cut him off abruptly one night, got out of his car in the pouring rain. it wasn't what i wanted, it was really just all i knew, to run away. it felt easier than honest self-expression.

so five years later, when he won a grammy for his hit song, i felt my throat get choked up in pride as i watched him from the crowd. i wondered if he remembered how i always said he would do it one day, after he would play me his newest creations.

i wasn't going to say hi to him, i didn't want to ruin his perfect night. but as our eyes met at the afterparty, my breath hitched.