❤‍🔥My Sweet Love | A Short Story

 

My Sweet Love

There are moments in life that do not feel like moments at all.
They feel like breaches, rips in the fabric between what we know and what we feel, tears in time through which something overwhelming slips in.

That is what you were.
A breach.
A rupture.
An opening into something too bright, too consuming, too much for a heart that had only ever known gentle warmth and careful affection.

I didn’t know desire could feel like a force of nature.
I didn’t know it could rearrange the way the air tasted.
I didn’t know it could make the world tilt on its axis when someone looked at me a certain way.

And then you did.

You looked at me, and the universe folded in half.

There was no love here;
only want,
only hunger,
the kind that devours and worships at once.

It happened the first night we met, though neither of us had the courage to admit it. We stood closer than strangers typically do, our breaths catching on the same thin thread of tension. There was nothing soft about it, nothing tender.

It was raw, unmasked, urgent.

It was a pull deeper than attraction, sharper than curiosity.
Your presence struck something dormant in me, igniting it so quickly I almost stepped back. But I didn’t. I stepped forward instead.

Because part of me had been waiting for something to wake me.
And you-
you arrived like a wildfire.

We didn’t fall into each other with caution.
We didn’t tiptoe around the spark.
We collided-
reckless, immediate, inevitable.

You touched me like you already knew the shape of my yearning.
I kissed you like I had been preparing for it long before I knew your name.

There was no hesitance.
No soft glances.
No gentle testing of boundaries.

There was only that urgent rhythm,
the one our hearts fell into instantly,
beating against each other like warnings
we both chose to ignore.

Time stumbled around us, losing its footing.
Seconds stretched, folded, cracked.
The world blurred at the edges.

Everything was the fire between us.
Everything was your hands, your breath, your want.

We existed beyond time in that moment,
or maybe we simply stopped caring that time existed at all.

Later, I would try to recall the details.
What we said.
Where the clothes fell.
Whether the moonlight touched your shoulder or your throat first.

But none of it stayed.

The only thing that remained was sensation;
heat,
pressure,
the dizzying certainty that I was being consumed in the exact way I secretly craved.

You kissed like a firestorm.
I answered like one.

There was no gentleness to dilute the urgency.
No promise beneath the passion.
No future hiding in the touch of skin to skin.

We were a blaze,
and we both knew it.

Passion is a strange thing.
People say it burns quickly, that it can’t sustain itself.
But they forget that while the fire lasts, it is everything.

It fills the lungs.
It blinds the senses.
It becomes a world of its own.

That’s what those nights were.
A world made of heat and hunger and the sweet, dangerous thrill of wanting without needing to explain.

We did not talk about who we were outside the room.
We did not make plans.
We did not speak our fears or dreams.

Our conversations were made of fingertips tracing spines, mouths finding new ways to rewrite breath, bodies learning the geography of each other in the dark.

We spoke in gasps.
In laughter swallowed by kisses.
In hands gripping just a little too tightly.

It was not love.
But it was intoxicating.

And sometimes, intoxication is enough.

There was one moment-
one that returns to me even now, long after we’ve burned out-
that I cannot forget.

You were lying there, breathing hard, your chest rising and falling like a tide fighting the urge to pull back.
Your hand brushed my throat, my jaw, my cheek, finding a softness neither of us had intended to share.

And for a single suspended heartbeat,
your eyes softened.
Just barely.

A flicker.
A tremor.
A breath of something that wasn’t fire, but something adjacent to it.

A warmth we both recognized and feared.

But it vanished before it could become anything.
You blinked, and the hunger returned.
I leaned in, and the world snapped back into its burning shape.

That fleeting softness was the closest we ever came to love,
and maybe that’s why it frightened us both.

We burned through weeks like they were seconds.
Time couldn’t keep up; neither could we.

We tried to stretch the fire into something steady, something sustainable.
But passion does not bend that way.
It only burns.
And burns.
And burns.

Until there’s nothing left.

The flame that had once devoured everything began to flicker.
Not because we wanted it to, but because that’s what fire does when there is no foundation beneath it.

We mistook intensity for permanence.
We mistook desire for destiny.
We mistook the blaze for the beginning of something lasting.

But it was only a moment;
a beautiful, furious, unforgettable moment,
that could not survive the return of reason.

I don’t remember the day we ended.
Not truly.

There was no fight.
No betrayal.
No heartbreak sharp enough to draw blood.

We simply reached a point where the fire had consumed what it could,
and there was nothing left to burn.

No ashes, even.
Just a silence where the heat used to be.

I don’t hate you.
I don’t love you either.
I don’t carry regret when I think of your name.

I carry a memory,
a breathless, endless second
when the world folded in half
and passion felt like destiny.

And maybe that is enough.

Maybe passion isn’t meant to last.
Maybe it isn’t built to endure or grow or deepen.
Maybe it is meant only to flare,
to illuminate,
to remind us that we are capable of feeling something stronger than reason.

Something that consumes us just long enough
to change the shape of our longing.

Something that leaves us breathless
and a little more alive
than we were before.

Oh dear Romeo,
we were never meant to last.

But in that single suspended second,
that blistering, perfect collision of two hearts
too hungry to think,
too dazzled to breathe,
I would have burned again.

Gladly.

Just to feel you consume me once more.

Some loves don’t end, they echo. If this story pulled something out of you, All The Ways We Ruined Us is where that feeling continues, deeper and more dangerously.
Read it here: All The Ways We Ruined Us

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