EMMANUEL RWOTNGEYO ABWOLA

 He: ‎I loved you long before my mouth found courage for your name, ‎Before your laughter turned the ordinary air to flame. ‎You move like midnight teaching stars how they should shine, ‎And every room betrays itself whenever you are inside. ‎Tell me to leave  ‎I swear the wind itself would disobey, ‎For even silence leans toward you when you walk away. ‎ ‎She: ‎Do not mistake my trembling for surrender to your art, ‎I have seen kingdoms built by men with beautiful hearts. ‎Your words are velvet knives; they kiss before they bleed, ‎And women fall like autumn leaves wherever you may breathe. ‎Yet cruel is my resistance, for my guarded soul still knows: ‎A flower can fear the fire… and still turn toward its glow. ‎ ‎He: ‎I carry your name the way oceans carry the moon  ‎Pulled without reason, restless beneath ruin. ‎Your eyes are dangerous scriptures no wise man survives, ‎Yet I return to read them as though ruin were divine. ‎Say you do not love me, still my soul will und...

 ‎It’s strange how some stories refuse to end properly ‎they pause, they drift, they wait in quiet places. ‎Ours did that… somewhere between then and now, ‎between who we were and who we pretend to be. ‎And when I saw you again, nothing announced itself ‎no grand moment, no revelation ‎just a subtle shift, ‎like something unfinished recognizing its other half in passing. ‎ ‎We talked the way people do when they avoid the truth well ‎soft laughter, borrowed futures, careless “what ifs.” ‎But beneath it, something kept leaning closer, ‎something neither of us named. ‎You asked questions that brushed too near the surface, ‎and I answered like someone protecting a secret ‎that has already been discovered, ‎just never spoken aloud. ‎ ‎Now I understand ‎not everything meant to be felt is meant to be held. ‎Some things exist best in that fragile distance ‎where nothing is promised, yet nothing fully fades. ‎And maybe that’s what this is… ‎not love declared, not love denied ‎just something...