I watch them hands intertwined, laughter stitched between their ribs, eyes soft as moonlight pooling on quiet streets. Love looks effortless in their arms, like a language they were born knowing, a melody they hum without thinking. I stand in the shadows, smiling, drinking in the sweetness of their joy. It fills me up warm, golden but it never stays. Like cupped water slipping through my fingers, I can’t seem to hold what I've always craved. I have built walls wrapped in ribbons, made cages feel like home, learned to call silence safety, learned to push away the hands that reach for me before they can learn the shape of my ruin. I am an echo of every almost-love, every near-enough heartbeat I’ve drowned in doubt. I am both the aching and the architect, building distance where I long for closeness, testing every touch just to prove it won’t stay. Still, I watch love bloom around me, and oh, how beautiful it is how it sings in the spaces I refuse to stand in. One day, maybe, I’ll let it reach me. One day, maybe, I’ll stop running