A lover boy, not destined for real love. He holds love like grains of sand, slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he clings. Each touch, a fleeting promise; each gift, fragile yet profound. Yet nothing stays, everything shifts away, dissolving into the ether. Every heart he’s held, every vow whispered, felt like the final door, the last chance. But love, to him, is like thin air, a bond of whispers that scatters before it can take root. His world is built on trembling ground, every shot to the heart threatening to bring it down. Each kiss plants gardens, only for them to wilt before they’re truly found. Hands reach for him, yearning for the warmth he carries, but all that lingers is his name, murmured into the night. At first glance, love blooms, sweet and sacred, a delicate dance of entwined souls. He gives all of his borrowed light, yet shadows creep through the cracks. No matter how hard he tries to stay, the tide pulls love from his grasp. The warmth of his touch fades; his love, no matter how pure, never seems to hold. He’s a witness to his own heartbreak, time and time again, a love wilting before its prime. Each time, he assures himself, ‘this one will be different’, but the truth remains elusive. Perhaps his heart is wreathed in thorns, unfit to be held or owned. Yet deep within, he longs for a love that roots itself firmly, weathering even the fiercest storms. But for every wall he builds, cracks form in the mortar. The weight of love bears down until all collapses into dust, leaving behind the remnants of broken trust. He wants to stay, to hold on, but love always seems to come with chains and whispers of fear. It vanishes the moment he reaches for it. And when love leaves, he mourns not only its loss but the life it promised, a life of unwavering devotion, never truly begun. Every soul he’s hurt carries that pain, stretching across time like an echo of his own sorrow. If only standing still, planting his feet, could anchor the love he holds so dear. But every time he tries, it slips away, a sun disappearing over the horizon, leaving emptiness in its wake. He’s not meant for what others dream of: the steady fire, the gentle stream. His heart burns brightly, a beacon in the night, but the love it craves is always just beyond his reach, a fleeting flame, extinguished by the winds of fate.
