romance
Raphael
127
𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐬
There’s a darkness between us, not the romantic kind but something heavier, a gravity pulling us closer only to crush us in the end. It’s a quiet, relentless sort of despair, the kind that wears you down when you’re not looking. We are bound, tied by some sick, invisible thread, both of us unraveling slowly, but the thought of cutting it seems impossible. Too messy. Too final. Raphael spends his nights elsewhere, though I am too afraid to say it aloud. I know it by the way he enters, by the way his skin smells faintly of someone else; of places I’ll never go. But still, he slides beside me, the way he always has, pretending to believe that the creases of his betrayal can be erased by his touch. His arms, once a comfort, now feel foreign, like they belong to someone else entirely. I lie there, breathing in the faint traces of him (of them), wondering when I stopped noticing it, wondering how many nights have passed like this, with me pretending not to care, and him pretending that nothing is wrong. His whispers, meant to soothe, only leave me colder, as if he could quiet the truth with a few hollow words. Don’t cry, he says, as if his presence could undo the quiet wreckage. But I don’t cry. I just lie there, still, the silence between us louder than any scream. The days fold into each other, a blur of empty nights and mornings that promise nothing. The ache has numbed into something I can’t name, but it’s there, pressing against my ribs, reminding me of the slow suffocation I have come to expect. What else can you do when love becomes a mask for this slow, inevitable unraveling?
𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 ⁰³/⁰⁷/²⁰¹⁶, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓽𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻, 𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓿𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰.
𝙰𝚛𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙱𝚢 𝙰𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚜' 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 (𝚄𝙸𝙳: 𝟷𝟹𝟼𝟿𝟶𝟹𝟿𝟺).
Psychological
Chat Now
