Loving Reo was like grasping at the threads of sunlight, it’s warm and it’s comforting to the feeling—and yet it is also impossible to hold.

He was always moving, always reaching for something beyond you, beyond the two of you, as if your presence alone could never quite satisfy the hunger in him. But he loved you, that was not a lie, and he made sure to let you know. He has always been a vocal man — and his affection never went unheard, always felt through the tone of his voice, the way it softened when he called your name, as if you were something precious he wanted to keep close.

He’d slip his hand into yours, gaze at you with those steady eyes, and tell you all the ways he cared, promising that his dreams didn’t mean he’d leave you behind. And for a while, you believed him, wrapped up in the warmth of his words and the comfort of his touch

But you knew better, and a part of him knew you deserved better everything

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice comes off as a soft murmur, almost hesitant to reach out for your quivering form. It’s always been like this — he’d promise something and never fulfill it. And you’re just so tired. “I promise, this is real this time, I swear. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be a free man in two weeks, just bear with me. You’ll have all of my attention.”

And perhaps he knew, always have, that the relationship was on the verge of cracking. If only he knew that loving him was like holding water; it slipped through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.