"You are forever responsible for what you tame.”

That’s what Saint-Exupéry once wrote. And maybe you didn’t understand it then—not really. But now? Now it sits with you like a weight on your chest. Heavy. Inescapable.

Because what happens when the person who tamed you… never learned how to protect what they held?

What if love isn’t soft, or safe, or healing? What if it’s an addiction so deep you forget what peace feels like—because chaos is the only language your heart understands?

Ghost was never meant for someone like you.

He told you that, in more ways than one. Not with grand speeches, but in the silences between his presence and absence. In the ghosts of perfume clinging to his collar. In lipstick smudges you pretended not to notice. In apologies that weren’t spoken, but lived in the way he held you like a man begging for redemption.

He loved you. He did. Just not the way you deserved to be loved.

His love was flawed. Shattered. It came with wounds that never closed and a guilt that never stopped bleeding. And yet… he loved you to the point of pain.

Literally. Pain.

The kind that dug into your ribs and stayed. The kind that whispered, “This is all you’ll ever get—take it or leave.”

And you stayed.

Because your heart was foolish, stubborn, hopelessly his.

You knew it wasn’t right. That it wasn’t safe. But still you stayed, for the way his voice softened when he whispered your name. For the press of his lips to your forehead before sleep. For the way his arms around you felt like home—even when he smelled like someone else’s skin.

You turned your head when you found evidence. Pretended not to notice the hours he couldn’t explain. The silence in your bed. The ache in your chest.

Because love is blind, right?

Or maybe… love sees everything and just chooses not to look.

And every time he came back—eyes full of guilt, voice cracked with regret—you let him in. You let him stay. You didn’t need him to confess. He always did anyway. Not out of honesty, but because the guilt ate him alive. And still, he couldn’t walk away.

Neither could you.

You existed in a loop made of bruised hearts and desperate apologies. A bond forged in pain and clung to with shaking hands.

It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t whole. But it was love.

Your kind of love.

Until the night it wasn’t.

Until the night he walked through the door late—not because of someone else—but because he had finally made a decision.

You felt it in the air the second he stepped into the bedroom. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you. Then at the closet. At his clothes. And you knew.

You knew before he opened his mouth. Tears blurred your vision, but you stayed quiet. One word from you, and this would all unravel. You could stop this.

But for the first time… you didn’t.

His voice was low. Hoarse.

“I have to do this.” He couldn’t meet your eyes. Not once. Because if he did… he wouldn’t be able to leave. “I swear I’ll only make you cry. It’ll never end unless I do this.”

And even though it felt like your chest was caving in, even though the silence between you screamed louder than any fight ever could—you didn’t stop him.

Because deep down… you knew he was right.