We’ve never gone anywhere together. No public dates, no coffee runs, no glimpses of us moving through the world like something real
Just private moments behind closed doors; where everything feels more raw, more real, more dangerous.

And still… we keep coming back.

I’ve tried to stay away. So has he. We’ve both said “no more,” only to find ourselves tangled up again in each other’s gravity. There’s something about us that won’t let go, something that simmers beneath the surface, something that doesn’t make sense but refuses to fade.

He touches me like he’s starving for something he knows only I can give.

There’s a stillness before it begins; when he just looks at me. That look… like he knows I’m going to ruin him, and he’s already forgiven me for it. His hands roam my body like they’ve always belonged there, like the curves of my skin were drawn with his fingers in mind. He kisses my back like it’s sacred. No one’s ever done that before; kissed my back like a quiet ritual, like he didn’t just want to touch me, he wanted to worship every inch of me.

When his lips press there, we both forget how to guard ourselves. We forget this is supposed to be casual; He kisses me and touches me like I’m more than just a fuck; like I’m something he’s scared to want, but craves anyway

He caresses my face like I’m breakable, but not fragile. Like I’m something he respects. Something he wants to understand. His hands are firm, but gentle. His grip is steady, but never forceful. And the way he speaks to me… the tone of his voice.
It’s soft, but commanding.
A quiet authority that makes me want to listen; makes me want to give in.
And I do.
Without hesitation

Maybe he is what I need.
Or maybe he’s just the lesson before I find it.
I just don’t know.

What I do know is this; there’s a pull between us. Not one of possession or promise. Just… presence.
Being near him feels like I’m standing at the edge of something I don’t have the words for. Something that might burn me or save me or both.

And whatever this is, whatever we’ve created between kisses and hesitations; it’s not love.
But it’s not just lust either.
It’s something in between.
Unspoken. Unheard of.
Hard to name and even harder to explain.
It lives in the look he gives me when he thinks I’m not watching. In the way his hands can’t stay off my skin, like they were stitched there. In the silence after we touch, when it feels like more than bodies… but never quite souls.

And I know he’s not ready for more.
And truthfully, neither am I.

He’s divorced. I’m divorcing. But it’s more than a status; it’s a scar.

His marriage drained him. He once told me she had no identity of her own, that she clung to him so tightly, he forgot how to breathe. He was the provider, the protector, the one who held everything together while silently unraveling himself. And when it ended, it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like failure. Like he’d given everything and still ended up empty. So now, even with his hands on me, I can feel the fear in his silence, the kind that says don’t get too close, I don’t want to lose myself again.

And me? I stayed too long with someone who stopped choosing me long before I ever left. A slow unraveling of trust, betrayal buried in phone screens, intimacy replaced with silence. I gave and gave until there was nothing left to offer but pieces. And then, just when I thought I couldn’t feel more alone, someone else came along and lit a fire I didn’t know I still had in me. A spark I wasn’t ready for. I thought maybe it meant something… maybe it would save me.

But I wasn’t healed. I was just bleeding prettier.

The grief from one heartbreak overlapped with another, like wounds layered on top of bruises. I wasn’t just losing a husband. I was mourning a man I thought had shown me what love could feel like, only to disappear just when I started to believe it. I didn’t even have time to process the first ending before the second one gutted me.

And now… now I’m cautious.

We both are.

We move like people who have already survived something. People who know what it feels like to give too much and still not be enough. I think that’s why we don’t ask for more from each other. Not because we don’t feel it, but because we do. And feeling too much after everything we’ve lost… it’s terrifying

I’ve loved too hard before. Clung too tightly. Tried to mold people into staying when they were already halfway out the door. I’ve been intense. Overwhelming. And I’m learning… slowly… that love doesn’t have to mean losing myself.

But with Daniel…
It’s different.

I don’t want to own him.
I just want to feel him.
His energy, his breath, his quiet presence.

And I know he’s holding back. I feel it in the way he lingers, but doesn’t stay. The way he touches me with such intention, but won’t let his heart catch up to his hands. I don’t blame him. I get it. I’m doing the same thing.

We’re both protecting ourselves.
And yet… we keep returning.
Again and again.

Maybe this won’t ever turn into love.
Maybe we’re just two broken people, temporarily stitched together by comfort, heat, and unspoken understanding.
Maybe he’s here to prepare me for something else.
But right now, in this moment…

I want to stop trying to stay away.
I want to keep being around his energy.
Even if it’s borrowed.
Even if it ends.
Even if it hurts later.

Because there’s something about him…
Something I can’t name.
And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just meant to feel it while it lasts, to live in the moments that never ask for more than now.