I knew from the start that you were never a safe place for me. Every step that pulled me closer to you felt like entering dangerous ground, a fragile cliff that could crumble at any moment. I had already seen the traces—the men who came before me, leaving fragments of their hearts scattered in your wake. I could sense it, the shadows clinging to your eyes, the faint smile that always seemed to be hiding something. All of it was a warning that should have been enough to make me walk away.

But strangely, I am still here.

You lie half-turned on my bed, the tangled blanket covering part of your body. I sit at the edge, letting the weight of you rest lightly against me, and as your breath touches my skin, my chest tightens. It feels like being stabbed from the inside—not by any real pain, but by the creeping fear that gnaws at me: the fear that all of this is only temporary.

I pull the blanket higher, tucking it carefully around your shoulder, though I know it isn’t the cold that makes you shiver. You are always like this—leaving just enough space for someone to want to protect you, to trick a fool like me into believing I could be your place of rest. My hand hesitates in the air, unsure if I should touch you, but eventually my fingers sink into your hair, stroking gently, as if the slightest pressure might cause you to vanish.

The room is silent except for the slow ticking of the wall clock, reminding me of the time that keeps moving forward. The lamp by the bedside spreads a dim golden glow, just enough to reveal your face clearly. Your eyes half closed, weary, as though you stand on the edge of sleep, but I know you are not fully gone. You are still here, allowing me to look at you longer than I should.

I lower my gaze, tracing the soft lines of your face, your lips that tremble faintly whenever you take a deeper breath. You look fragile, but I know fragility is just an illusion. You are not the kind of girl who can be kept. You are not a home where I can anchor myself. You are a storm, and I am nothing more than a fool who chose to stand in the center of it, holding onto the naïve belief that the storm would not destroy me.

I know well that one day you will leave. You will walk away, leaving me with an empty heart, like all the others before me. But tonight, all of that logic feels meaningless. Tonight, I am just a man who has let himself fall too far.

My hand drifts down, brushing your cheek with the back of my fingers. Your skin is cold, and I restrain myself from holding your face too tightly. I only stroke softly, trying to memorize every curve, as if touch alone could keep me from losing you.

There is a small voice within me whispering leave. Save yourself while you still can. But I remain still, caught in the truth that I am more afraid of losing you than of facing the ruin already waiting for me. I choose to stay, even though I know you are not good for me.

Your breathing is heavy, sometimes faltering, then steadying again. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of you beside me, and I realize how effortlessly you stole the largest part of me without even trying. My heart became yours before I ever had the chance to negotiate its price.

I open my eyes again, staring at the dim ceiling. Outside, the night wind taps softly at the window, reminding me that the world keeps moving, that this is only a brief pause before everything shatters again. But I don’t care. For once, I allow myself to surrender.

I know I am lying to myself, pretending you will stay. But if the ruin comes tomorrow, so be it. Tonight I choose to remain by your side, ignoring whatever wounds might await me. If I must be broken, then let me break here—in your presence, while believing, even for a fleeting moment, that you are truly mine.

“If you want to destroy me, do it slowly. Let me savor every second with you before you go.”