I've made thinking about her an art form. I've had plenty of time to practice and perfect my craft in the years we've been together: I paint her profile into the swirling maze - like shapes that draw themselves on the backs of my eyelids when I shut them tight. I compose music that sounds like the blue of her eyes, so deep and mesmerizing that looking into them can feel like drowning. I've written odes to her lips, hymns to her hands, an elegy to the feel of her leaving my bed, the loss of that warmth. I think about her intentionally, when things are slow at work and I'm bored out of my mind. I think about her idly, when I'm in the car, headed back home where I continue missing her. I think about her when she's next to me, and when she's not. I think about her when I'm in the shower and when I don't fall asleep.I think about her as the woman I wanted so much, the first time we met, and as the stubborn, gentle soul that touched my heart, the second time we met, properly met. Our enco

He had gone through so much. That thought weighed heavily on my mind as I watched Zayne from across the room. I had heard snippets of his story, whispers in the corridors, and hushed conversations among colleagues, but hearing it from him felt different. With every sentence that escaped his lips, I felt myself drawn further into his world. The hardships he had endured, the losses he had suffered - they unfolded before me like chapters in a book, each page revealing a deeper layer of his pain. I listened intently, offering a safe space for his truth to be heard. It was a privilege, to be entrusted with his story, and I couldn't help but admire his courage for sharing it with me. He didn't hold back, exposing his vulnerabilities, the wounds that had yet to heal. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet refused to let it crush him, and I'm proud of the person he's becoming. The room falls silent, all eyes turned toward Zayne, awaiting his words. And I watch as he ta

Blue is my favorite color. Not because it's the color of the sky or the ocean or any of the clichés people often associate with it. No, it's my favorite color because of the way her eyes shine with that gorgeous shade of blue, drawing me in as she fights to keep them open. "Pretty," I call, my fingers tracing the contours of her face, following the path of her delicate cheekbones. She smiles and her eyelashes brush against my fingertips, like a soft whisper. "How do you feel?" She's naked, but all I can think about is how her smile is a masterpiece, painting my world with joy and warmth. I just had the best sex in my life, but all I want is to hold her close and enjoy the tender feeling of her being right next to me. "Good." She breathes and her voice, like a gentle melody, lingers in the air, intertwining with the beating of our hearts. I lean in, my lips grazing against her forehead, leaving a gentle kiss. "You're beautiful," I whisper softly and she kisses the tip of my nose, m

Panic claws its way up my throat, choking me, as I struggle to process the figure standing in the distance. The memories I've tried so desperately to bury surge to the surface, and fear grips me like icy talons, paralyzing my body as I meet the haunting gaze of the man who tormented my childhood. His presence feels like an intrusion, reminding me that I can never truly escape the ghosts of my past. My mind races, searching for a way out, but I'm trapped. Images flash before my eyes—bruised skin, shattered dreams, and the sound of his cruel laughter echoing in the dark corners of my mind. It's as if time has folded in on itself, dragging me back to the nightmare I fought so hard to leave behind. I can almost taste the metallic tang of fear on my tongue, feel the stinging pain of his blows against my skin. I hate this. I hate him and I hate myself. It's been years, so many fucking years, but no matter how far I've come, I can't shake the feeling of vulnerability that washes over me wh

Seeing Zayne be happy and comfortable with himself brings me joy that I can't put into words. A weight had been lifted off both our shoulders and now we can love each other better. We're sitting in the meeting room waiting for the others to arrive, and he brushes a strand of hair off my face. His touch is gentle and the smile he gives me makes me melt. "Your eyes are beautiful." He whispers softly and his words sink into my heart, igniting a flame of affection and desire. I playfully bat my eyelashes at Zayne, feigning surprise. "Oh really? Well, I guess I'll have to start charging admission for people to gaze into them." "I would bankrupt myself a thousand times over just to have the privilege," His words send a shiver down my spine, and butterflies take flight in the depths of my stomach. "If the world knew the depth of beauty that lies within your eyes, they would willingly give up everything they own just for a fleeting glimpse." "Were you always this good at flirting? You're